Awakening: The Wildcard of the Mojave
by Atomitrox
Summary: He was enigmatic, charismatic, and willing to challenge the odds. But above all, he was afraid. That was until Veronica, a Brotherhood scribe, inspired the courage within him to take on the biggest risk of his life: becoming the Wildcard of the Mojave.
1. Chapter 1: A Girl and her Gauntlet

**This is my first Fallout story and it prominently features the Courier and Veronica. I'm starting at the point in the story where the two of them meet, but details about who the Courier is and the choices he's made before the meeting Veronica will be revealed in the narrative. I'm always open to feedback, so let me know what you think!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Fallout.**

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 **Awakening: The Wildcard of the Mojave**

 **Chapter 1: A Girl and her Gauntlet**

He looked like a mess back then and that was putting it mildly. Because towns charged for the use of their water pumps and because there were no natural sources of clean water around, most of the water he did buy was used to quench his thirst and to clean any wounds he ended up getting. Occasionally, he'd be able to buy some soap together to clean his gray duster, his other clothes, and himself, but those days were rare. Most of the money he made was drained quickly on food, supplies, and repairing his weapons. Following the apocalypse, a clean gun was far more important than clean clothes.

Despite all of that, the young man couldn't help but smile as he walked along the dusty road that carried him north. Rarely was the temperature in the Mojave lukewarm, but that day, a few clouds blocked the unforgiving sun. He had grown accustomed to the heat after running packages on that side of the old United States, but even so, he completely understood where some of the NCR soldiers were coming from, wishing for a nuclear winter two centuries after the warheads fell. But not that day. Maybe it was because it was November. Maybe that was why the temperature had dropped. A cool breeze brushed past his face, pushing his dirty-blonde hair a little in the process. When he touched his hair to push it back into place, its texture reminded him how badly he needed a shower. Even just for a minute.

 _Of course, Boulder City's pipes are still broken. I would have spent the last of my caps for a quick rinse._ But he let the thought go almost as quickly as it arrived when his mind returned to why he was going to New Vegas. It wasn't because of the package that he was supposed to deliver from when he was working as a courier or because of the gambling, booze, and women within the sinful city (appealing as those latter things were.) It was about "Checkers", or Benny, as Jessup had called him. The courier felt for the old lighter that the Great Khan had given to him the day before after negotiating for the group's escort out of Boulder City. It was still in his pocket, and he gave it a quick pat. Soon, he would find that asshole, and one way or another, he was either going to get his answers or his revenge; whichever came first.

Up ahead was a trading post that sat on two bridges that were built for the cars of the old world. It was conveniently set up to catch the almost empty-handed suckers that came stumbling back from Vegas. It wasn't all that far away from Boulder City, but given that Boulder City was practically a ghost town, the post probably had something worth trading for. Not like the weather-beaten man had much on him that he was willing to trade, but he did need a few more bullets. His submachine gun would need a refill for the road ahead.

"Welcome to the 188!" a woman greeted from behind a sales table under the husk of an old bus.

The courier waved in return but kept walking. As a food vendor, she probably wasn't selling what he needed. He had enough food to last until he reached Freeside… well, almost enough. The Pork n' Beans cans that he had would probably last him the trip there, but he could scavenge for wild plants and geckos if he really needed to. Nothing that he wasn't used to already.

"Hey," called out another person in an unmistakably feminine sounding voice. The man looked over to see the woman that called him and was briefly intrigued. She was a little thing, barely over five feet tall, wearing old robes and a hood that covered her hair, only leaving her face exposed. She did have a pretty face, especially given that her skin was exceptionally pale; a rare thing to see in the sunburnt Mojave. What was also intriguing was what she wore on her right hand: one of those power fist things.

 _Cute girl, weird clothes, power fist… what a combination. Still, not what I'm looking for._ He kept walking, continuing over to a woman standing near a pack brahmin that had boxes of surplus loaded on its back.

"You sell ammo?" he asked as he approached. "I need some 10mm bullets. Do you have a hundred or so?"

"Sure, friend," she replied, the eagerness of making a sale rushing into her eyes. "Hundred caps for a hundred bullets sound alright?"

"Ninety caps," he pushed, keeping his friendliness present enough to make the deal, but remaining stern enough to remind her that he was being serious.

"Ninety-five," she said in an equally business-mannered tone. "I'm not going to give ten percent off to somebody unless they're a ranger. Rangers need these more than you, no offense."

"None taken," he answered, slightly groaning. He thought about stealing NCR armor just for the sake of getting discounts from certain vendors, but he knew the risk outweighed the reward.

"Ninety-five works. I don't have the caps though, so…" He took off his backpack and began the unloading process. Two 10mm pistols, one old 9mm, one .357, and a broken varmint rifle that he had broken down into smaller pieces. Finally, he brandished a machete; the spare that he had packed away. Unlike the rest of the weaponry he offered up, the sword one was in half-decent condition. It was sad to give it away though, seeing as it was a gift and all. But he also felt a sense of relief. Holding onto it made him feel uneasy like he was being watched. He didn't need that extra paranoia plaguing him.

"Jesus, kid, these guns are shit. What'd you do, shoot rocks out of them?" The dealer scowled as she evaluated the condition of the wares she was given. It was true. They were shit. But to be fair, they weren't his originally.

"Jackals and Powder Gangers don't know how to take care of their toys," he responded in a monotone voice. Though he'd probably never see the trader again, he wanted her to think that he was competent enough to care for his weapons.

"Okay killer, I hear you," she added with a light laugh. "You must be tough to handle those sons of bitches. Like a trained killer or some shi…" Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the machete. "This one's in good shape though… definitely Legion made." She looked up, suspicious. "Where did you get this?"

His alertness shot up. He knew what was being implied and he knew what to say. "Saw one of those Bull scouts on the road. NCR must have gotten to him. Or ghouls. I don't care. I liked it, so I took it." He looked into her eyes, trying to lighten the mood with a smile. "What, do I look like one of those skirts to you?"

"No, I guess not," she admitted, still not trusting him. "You look tough, but you don't look like one of those bastards or like the type that could kill them. Again, no offense. But you gotta be careful about looting those guys, you know. Legion don't take well to that." She looked back down at the weaponry, compiling a price. "This is about one hundred caps altogether. I'll throw you five caps too to balance it out."

"Fine by me," he agreed. After the transaction completed, he gave her a nod. "You take care of yourself."

"Yeah… you to." She didn't trust him; that look in her eyes gave it all away. But he couldn't blame her. For the most part, nobody trusted anybody in the world they lived in.

"Time to head north again…" Looking at his Pip-Boy, he checked the direction. "North's that way…" He began to walk northward, but he barely made it ten steps before he was stopped.

"Is that a Pip-Boy?"

The young man turned around to see that it was the intriguing girl with the hood again. She was staring at the vault device on his arm with curiosity and then she glanced back at him. She was even cuter up close, but her approach made him nervous. This girl was behaving way too friendly. In the wastes, that was not always a good sign. Experience dictated that sudden bouts of friendliness typically led to somebody getting mugged or killed. But given that there was an NCR weapons dealer several feet away, he felt slightly more secure. Still, he eyed that gauntlet on the girl's right hand, ready to dodge a sucker punch.

"Yeah…" he answered, looking northward again as he was getting anxious just standing there. "Look, I need to get go-"

"Where'd you get that?" she asked. "Those things are pretty rare."

He felt a little annoyed now. The young woman sounded like a genuinely friendly person, but he did not want to put up with that. He gave her false smile and answered her

"A friend of mine gave it to me. He used to live in a vault. Look, Miss, I'd love to stay and chat, but I-"

"You mind if I look at it? You know, for scientific reasons?" She asked this so innocently and before the young man could say no, she lifted his arm by the metal contraption and began to study it.

"Please, don't-"

"Never seen one of these up close. It's amazing what these things can do. Does this one have a V.A.T.S. on it, or is it one of the older models without it?"

"It has V.A.T.S.," he answered, gently pulling his arm away from the curious, hooded girl. "Listen, no offense, but this is getting a little weird. I don't even know you and-"

"Oh…" She took a step back, her pale cheeks filling with color. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just got carried away with seeing that tech. You know how it is; you see something shiny and you gotta check it out, right?"

"Yeah…?" _Geeze, this chick is odd. Like she's never been out in the real world… or at least my world._ Still, he felt a little bad about pushing her away. Strange as she was, there was something about her that was warm. That genuine sense of… genuineness… if that made any sense. "Look, I'm sorry. I like to talk with people, I really do. Thing is, lately, I've been involved in some stuff and I'm a bit paranoid because of it, so-"

The young woman chuckled and interrupted him. "I understand. You lonesome drifters need your brooding space and what not. It's a tough world out there." She began scanning his outfit from head to toe, paying special attention to his road-beaten shoes before looking back at his five o'clock shadowed face. "No offense, but you look like you've traveled a long way down some bad roads. I bet your shoes would have quite the story to tell if they could talk. Where'd you come from?"

"That's…" The young man's voice trailed off as he tried to think of a good answer. _Personal? A long story?_ He didn't want to really talk about that stuff with her, given that he barely knew her. But because he liked something about the hooded stranger, he decided to play around with her. With a smirk, he answered, "Would you believe me if I said the grave?"

She chuckled awkwardly. "Ha, I don't know if I'd believe that, but if that were true, I'd admit that you look pretty good, given the circumstances. Are you supposed to be a zombie or something?"

"Please, do I look like a ghoul to you?" he quipped.

"Well, no. But whatever the case, it's good to meet you." She held out her hand. "I'm Veronica. I live in a hole in the ground."

He didn't shake her hand, but he liked how she said that last part so casually. "A hole in the ground? Like a vault or a bunker or something?"

"A bunker, if you want to get technical," she answered him, still cheery. "I just think it sounds more interesting my way. But I'm not there much anymore anyway. I'm usually out here picking up food and supplies for my family. Whatever they need. Somebody needs to get the groceries, you know? They can take care of themselves otherwise though. Besides, these days, I think they'd rather have me out here anyway. But that's a whole other story."

 _Geeze, you're very forthcoming. Gonna dictate your memoir to me next?_

Somewhere during her explanation, Veronica seemed to pick up on the fact that she was dominating the conversation. "So, you seem kind of quiet. Do you mind if I ask you about yourself? Your name, what you do, stuff like that?"

The courier felt his paranoia kick in at those questions. Lately, he hadn't felt so comfortable giving away his name or anything about himself in general, as he was intent on remaining anonymous. After getting robbed that _last_ time, it was the last thing that he had left that couldn't be taken from him.

"Look, I don't really feel comfortable giving that away. It's not you, I just-"

"Oh, I understand," she interrupted, seemingly unfazed. "Not everybody feels comfortable about that sort of thing. I mean, I do, but I guess I'm just more open about some of that stuff."

He felt a little bad. Veronica did tell him a bit about herself, so he felt as though he ought to return the favor to some extent. "Well, to answer some questions for you, I'm not always this quiet. But lately… I am… was a courier. Things have changed a little bit." That was the simplified version of the story, at least.

"A courier, huh?" she questioned. The woman's eyes lit up suddenly. "You hear about that story about the courier in Goodsprings that got shot in the head and lived?"

Again, he felt his heart skip with paranoia. He was incredibly thankful that she didn't pick up on his comment about 'rising from the grave' earlier, combined with the fact that he mentioned that he was a courier. But he decided to squash her beliefs on that subject.

"That's a bullshit story. I've been to Goodsprings and I can tell you that nothing like that happened. Either they made up some sort of tall tale to attract tourists or that poor sucker died. How many people have you met that survived a shot to the skull?"

"Not many," she replied, her smile growing slightly. "I like you, stranger. You seem like a good guy, but you're riddled in mystery, almost enough to be cliché or something. So, I can tell you don't want to get personal, but can I ask you something on the level?"

"That depends on what's being asked," he replied, feeling uncomfortable again. Compared most of the people out in the Mojave Desert, this girl was a breath of fresh air, but he didn't like how every sentence between them became personal, despite barely knowing each other.

"Well," she started, "recently, I had a run-in with this group calling themselves the Brotherhood of Steel. Pretty strange bunch." Her gaze suddenly turned inquisitive and curious. "Do you know anything about them?"

The courier frowned at the very name. The Brotherhood had always been an enigma to him, as well as to most people in the wasteland, though he had enough experience with them to form a few of his own opinions. He knew that they didn't mix well with others and that their goals of technological preservation often led to them taking certain technologies such as energy weapons away from any they considered outsiders. There was a time when they had worked in tandem with the NCR, but that relationship deteriorated as the two factions warred with each other over tech, such as the stuff at HELIOS One, whatever it was. The way he saw it, the group was to be avoided, and they were the primary reason he didn't use energy weapons. In fact, just wearing his pip-boy made him feel uneasy. Tech like that wasn't common. As far as his personal opinions went, he didn't care for them much either, but he usually kept his reasons to himself.

"I don't know much about them," he answered, shrugging his shoulders. "I've heard a lot of stories though about them harassing people over advanced tech. If I saw them around, I'd probably keep walking and take care to hide my pip-boy."

"Yeah, that's probably best," Veronica agreed. "From what I hear, though, they mostly keep to themselves. You'll probably be fine, so long as you keep to yourself as well."

"Yeah, well that was the plan to begin with," he replied, but under his smile, he was concerned. _Where is she going with this?_

"So, where are you going anyway?" she asked, paralleling his thoughts.

"New Vegas Strip," he answered straightforward. That wasn't something that he needed to hide. Most everybody coming through the trading post was probably going to or coming from Vegas. "I've had a few detours, doing some freelance work and what not, but no more. I'm visiting an… an old _friend_ of mine." _That_ was something worth keeping quiet.

"Oh, sounds like a great time," she chirped, clutching her hands together, not reading into the subtext. "I'm not much of a gambler, but the strip sounds like a good time. All the people, the old buildings, the culture in general. It may be dirty, but it sounds like it's worth seeing once." Before the man could speak again, Veronica continued. "Look, I know I just met you, but you look like somebody who could handle himself. There are so many places that'd I'd love to see, but would be too dangerous to go by myself."

 _Oh great, I see where this is going._ She was going to ask him if she could tag along with him, and his feelings on that were really mixed. On the positives, this girl had a nice attitude, was enjoyable to talk with, and was cute to boot. Pretty women were rare in the wastes. In the past month alone, he only saw two other women that he thought were pretty, one being Sunny Smiles back in Good Springs, and the other being that drunken red-head he met at the NCR outpost in the south. But on the other hand, his last traveling companion proved to be bad for his health in more ways than one, despite his marksmanship. Also, if Veronica wanted to tag along, she had no idea what she was getting herself into. He wasn't exactly a knight in shining power armor.

"You've survived so far on your own," he pointed out, looking down at her power gauntlet. "I'm sure you've… punched a lot of things to death out here."

"You ever try to punch a deathclaw?" she joked, smiling again. "That involves getting a little bit too close for comfort. Besides, I'm not that great with a gun and I'd feel safer exploring with somebody else. So please," she asked, putting on her biggest, cheesiest smile, "could we travel together, help each other out? It would be fun!"

"Fun?" Was that really the word she used to describe traveling in the wastes? Fun? Sure, seeing the sites could be fun at times. Dealing with Checkers in New Vegas would be fun. Shooting Med-X was fun. Gambling was fun. Getting laid was fun. But traveling the wastes was fun altogether? He did not agree. "Look, Veronica, you seem like a nice girl, but I don't know about this. I like having company and socializing, but I'm not exactly the most… look, my last traveling companion caused me way too many problems because of his own agenda. It's hard enough already because I live pretty poor and I'm constantly getting tangled up in problems like you wouldn't believe. Also, what about your family? Don't they need you to 'bring back the groceries', as you said?"

She rolled her eyes, though she didn't look annoyed as she did it. "You are so just looking for excuses to get rid of me, aren't you?"

"No, but-"

"Like I said," she continued, "they can handle themselves. It's a big family. There are other people getting supplies, so they won't miss me…" She looked saddened at that last part. "But you have your own problems? That's what I said earlier: I'll help you out if you help me explore. Sound like a fair trade, right?

"A weird trade, more like," he replied. "I'm not exactly a tour guide. Where are you hoping to go? I mean, if it's on the way to Vegas, then sure, we can stop on by, but I kind of have priorities right now."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Veronica replied, not missing a beat. "There is nowhere in particular that I want to go to, really. I'm just hoping to see more of the world, looking for a fresh perspective and all."

 _A fresh perspective on what, exactly?_ It was very believable that she lived in a hole in the ground if she figured there was a fresh perspective to be found out in the wastes. Then again, maybe it was his own tired perspective. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't look like you have much to offer." He did notice the small pack she had with her and a small 10mm pistol on her waist. "Then again, neither do I. But what do you bring to the table? Are you even good at punching things?"

"The best," she declared, proudly raising her fist embedded in the power glove. "Trust me on this one; you'll be glad you brought me along. I'm great in a fight, believe it or not."

"I believe it, but what about guns? You said you're not so strong with a gun, and that's a little concerning. I mean, no offense to unarmed combatants or anything, but sometimes guns are just safer." He trod carefully on that line, given how he had seen Legion foot soldiers fight effectively against NCR troopers with only spears, machetes, and power gauntlets, but at the same time, running up against somebody with a gun often meant the high risk of getting shot.

Veronica didn't seem to mind his doubting though. It was if she was permanently tuned in to being upbeat. "Okay, you have doubts, I get that. But I promise that I'm not going to run right into open fire or anything. I'd like to think that I'm a bit more clever than that. But look, if you let me come along and you don't think things are working out, we can part ways at any time. No hard feelings, alright?"

"So to reiterate, you want to go traveling with a stranger that you just met so you can see the world, not caring about whom I really am or what I'm doing… That's a little crazy." Understatement of the year in his opinion.

"Call it a hunch," she said, shrugging. "I don't know, you just don't look like a member of the Legion or a psychopath to me, so you're already a good candidate."

"Fair enough, but you really don't know anything about me or what I'm doing, and I'm not about to tell you."

"And if you're a douchebag, I'll leave. The 'not working out' thing works both ways," she answered, shrugging quickly.

"Okay, and one more thing…" the courier looked over at the weapon dealer to make sure that she was preoccupied. "You're right about me. I'm not in the Legion. But I'd rather stay out of their crosshairs if I can help it. You're not going to go attacking them on site, correct?"

Veronica snorted at this question. "Sounds like an easy way to die. Of course not."

"Good. Then…" It wasn't a good idea, but something about this girl seemed like she'd be good to have around. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but if you really want to tag along, I guess-"

"Now you're talking! Thank you!" She clasped her hands together with joy, but as quickly as her excitement came to her, it melted away and she got serious for a moment. "One thing you should know first, though. I asked you about the Brotherhood because I'm one of them."

 _RED FLAG!_ He immediately gave her a look of urgency, also looking over to the if the weapons dealer had heard Veronica. She hadn't.

"Keep your voice down," he ordered in a harsh whisper, motioning for her to follow him over a few steps away from the NCR woman. "What the fuck?"

"Look," Veronica whispered back, "I needed to know how you'd react when I told you. We've made a lot of enemies. You still feel comfortable with me following you?"

"I don't know." The young man stared into the Brotherhood girl's face. There was something about her that made him want to trust her… it was probably because she was so damn pretty and a sweetheart by the way she was talking. But looks could be deceiving. She was Brotherhood after all. "Veronica, that makes me feel very conflicted. On one hand, because you say that you were a part of…" He did a quick double take to make sure that they weren't being watched, " _them,_ that tells me that you're probably educated and good at fighting, which may help me overlook the gun thing. That being said, it's incredibly suspicious that a member of _them_ has come up to me, asked me about my Pip-Boy, and now wants to travel with me… How do I know that you're not going to kill me in my sleep, cut off my arm, and take it back to your-"

She couldn't help but laugh at this. "Do you really think I would go through all of this trouble for one Pip-Boy? Besides, it's not my job to go around and steal tech. Even if it was, I wouldn't have told you I was in the Brotherhood… besides, I don't know if I'm really agreeing with them on everything right now, so I won't try to arrest you or anything. If it's okay with you, can we still travel together? I won't hide anything big from you anymore. I promise."

 _You shouldn't do this. You can't trust her._ But for some reason, he couldn't stop himself. His gut was telling him that things would work out with this girl and usually, his gut was trustworthy when it came to potentially risky gambles. "Eh… I'm an idiot for agreeing to this, but yes. You may travel with me." He rubbed his hand against his right temple upon saying this, feeling the indent of the scar that rested there. _I'm going to regret this._ "But if we're going to do this, we need to lay down some ground rules."

"Sure, spill 'em," she agreed, too eager.

"Alright, but this is going to be a bit strict. After the last guy…" he trailed off, but getting his head back in the conversation, he continued. "First off, if you're traveling with me, this is not a democracy. If you have any input regarding whatever we encounter, I'll gladly hear it out, but my decisions are final. I won't make you do anything you don't want, and if you have a problem with my direction, you can leave anytime. Okay?"

"Whatever you say, dad," Veronica prodded playfully. The weather-beaten young man couldn't help but grin at the quip, but he continued.

"Second, I do a lot of freelance work and scavenging. I'll split whatever I come across with you as I see fit. As long as you travel with me, you'll always have bullets and food. Caps too if I can actually manage to make some. And while some of that stuff can be dangerous, I'll try to keep both of us out of unnecessary danger to the best of my abilities."

"Yeah, I assume we won't be dining first class on our adventure, will we?" Upon seeing the mysterious traveler shrug, she snapped her fingers. "Darn it, I was hoping for seasoned Brahmin burgers on the daily."

"Third," he continued, "and most importantly, don't go punching anybody without my say so. Last thing I need is the Legion on my ass again over some grudge."

"Wow, you're really emphasizing that point with the Legion. What happened anyway?" Veronica's question wasn't answered.

"Finally…" His eyes narrowed and his face took on an even more serious complexion. "Don't pull any shit with me. I get why you didn't tell me about how you're with the Brotherhood at first, but I'm not going to take any more of that. You don't have to tell me your life story if you don't want, but if I feel that you're hiding anything from me that affects me personally, or I think you're trying to con me in any way, we're done. Understand?"

"Perfectly," Veronica answered still unfazed. "You seem like much more of a tight ass than I thought you would though. You're not going to suck all the fun out of our journeys, aren't you?"

"Please, I'm just being professional," he chuckled, touching the back of his head with his Pip-Boy hand. "Once you get to know me-"

"Really?" she cut him off. "How can I get to know you if you won't even tell me your name? Will you tell me anything about yourself?"

"Maybe, eventually, depends on what I think of you. Regardless, if you stick around with me until we reach New Vegas, the first drinks are on me. You have my word."

"I'll hold you to that," she alleged, holding her hound out for him to shake. For a second, he just stared at it, knowing what he should do, but feeling slightly reserved about doing so. But realizing that his mistrust was misplaced, he extended his gloved hand and shook hers firmly.

"Well, thanks for taking a chance on a naive young girl from California with stars in her eyes and a pneumatic gauntlet on her hand," she said, firmly returning the grasp. "I promise you, you won't regret this."

"I'm sure I won't," he returned, smiling awkwardly. He meant it too. Again, there was something about this young woman that was absolutely captivating. This woman, from a bunker, untouched by the harsh wasteland, seemed to be a beacon of purity in a wasteland so harsh and cruel. Still, while he trusted his gut, gut feelings weren't always the pinnacle of truth. "Now, one more question: how many bullets do you have?"

"Enough for now. Why?" Her curiosity arose. "I don't use my gun that much."

"I need to assess your skills. Find some empty bottles. We're going to do some target practice." He noticed that the young woman seemed a bit surprised by this order, but she agreed to it. As the two began to scrounge about the piles of trash that had been scattered about over the years, the young courier began to ponder what would be okay to tell Veronica about himself. Perhaps someday, she would be ready to learn that he was the Courier of Goodsprings that he had denied the existence of earlier. Either that or she would probably figure out herself. What he didn't know was that this lone, robed girl from the hole in the ground would change his life forever and give him the courage that he had been pretending to carry for so long.


	2. Chapter 2: A Deck of Cards

**Chapter 2: A Deck of Cards**

PFT! PFT! PFT! PFT! PFT! PFT! Ka-SH!

They had set a glass bottle on top of an old stump and the former courier had Veronica fire at it after equipping her gun with an old 10mm silencer that he had, as to prevent attracting too much attention. The results of the target practice were… concerning.

"Six shots." He looked at the shattered bottle and frowned. "Took you six shots to break that. Two less than last time after we sharpened up your form, but… didn't the Brotherhood train you how to use this thing?" He felt a little guilty for his chiding when he saw how flushed Veronica had become. She was clearly embarrassed and it probably wasn't all her fault that she couldn't shoot straight. Not everybody was good with a gun. And yet the Brotherhood sent her out into the wastes by herself. No wonder she wanted a traveling companion.

"It's not my fault! My hands get all shaky and sweaty. See?" She held up her left hand, and the young man could see the perspiration. "Besides, I'm slightly better with energy weapons. Something about being able to see where my ammo is going, you know? Too bad my laser pistol melted out on me the other day…"

"I guess," the Courier shrugged in response. He wouldn't have known what she meant about "seeing ammo" since he didn't use energy weapons. It wasn't that he couldn't use them, but he wasn't familiar with how to fix them and the ammo for such weaponry was rare and expensive. Regular, old guns were so much easier.

"Look, Veronica," he continued, "I need you to focus. Visualize the gun in your hand, and-"

"Right, because _nobody_ has given me this old speech before," she quipped, shutting him up immediately. "Look, can we just assume that I'm good enough with the gun? Anything we'll ever need to shoot at is much bigger than a glass bottle. If it were a radscoroion-"

"It would be moving right at you," the Courier added, interrupting her rant. "Look, I'm not expecting you to be perfect; God knows I'm not a perfect shot, but you need to be able to hit your target in less than six shots."

"Okay, hotshot." She picked up a glass bottle from the ones they had gathered and held it up for him. "If hitting a moving target is so easy, can you show me?"

He sighed. He got that she was frustrated, but he decided to play along. "I never said it was easy, but okay."

He took her pistol and took a few steps back. "Throw it up in the air. High enough that I won't hit anything else." She nodded and with a strong, upward thrust of her arm, she hurled the bottle toward the stratosphere. Calmly, he took aim and with quick precision on his part, the bottle shattered, causing the glass pieces to rain from above. Luckily, none of the shards hit either of them. He looked over at Veronica, who seemed impressed, but then, a mischievous grin emerged on her face.

"You cheated," she stated flatly. "You said you weren't a perfect shot."

"Cheated? No, that's years of practice. Now try three at once."

"Okay, now you're just showing off," she admonished, rolling her eyes. "Besides, there is no way you're hitting three."

"Try me," he dared. Grabbing three bottles by their necks, he handed them to her. Taking them by the necks, she threw them into the air like she had with the first, except since she threw them all at once, they all flew off in different directions. Again, the Courier raised his gun and with three, silenced shots, each bottle exploded. He looked back at Veronica with his cockiest smile as her mouth hung agape in disbelief.

"How… There's no way you just-"

"That time, I cheated," he admitted, laughing lightly at his accomplishment. "V.A.T.S., remember?" he reminded as he held up his Pip-Boy and pointed at it. "It's like a controlled muscle. I can slip into it whenever and it sends a neural stimulus to my brain that activates all sorts of neurotransmitters, some real, some artificial, that make your brain run so fast, it's almost as if everything is slowed to a crawl in comparison. It's great for picking out targets in a firefight."

"Yes, I've read about that. That is so cool!" Veronica exclaimed as she grabbed him by the wrist as she had earlier, lifting his Pip-Boy to examine it. This time, he didn't shoo her away, despite feeling uncomfortable with her closeness. "I imagine that tech like this would allow you to fight multiple targets with ease."

"Another reason why I steer clear of the Brotherhood. They'd probably cut my arm off for this thing." He wiped a bit of sweat from his brow and gave a weak smile. "It doesn't come without its limitations though. It only works for so long before my brain needs a recharge; a refractory period or whatever its called. Plus, if I use it too often, the burn out causes me to go into a brief daze. I have to be careful not to lose focus. And if I use it too much during a waking period, I become mentally exhausted in general. In short, it's not flawless, which is why I try not to use it all the time. Gotta keep my skills fresh. " He slowly pulled his wrist back from her grasp. "But that's enough of that. Let's get back to shooting."

That was not what the scribe wanted to hear, it seemed. "Look, I think I'll be fine," Veronica groaned, lifting her power fist for him to see up close. "See this? I can dent steel with this puppy. Shatter rocks and bones too."

"Bones?" His eyes widened in newfound skepticism. "You mean to tell me that you've killed people with that thing?" For some reason, he had a hard time imagining the peppy, little scribe being able to kill anybody.

She smiled with pride. "I try to avoid it, but I have smashed in the faces of a few raiders. But do we really need to kill people? You're a courier."

"In my line of work? You'd be surprised. Now…" He picked up another bottle, but she only crossed her arms, refusing to take it from him.

"Look, I understand that you want to help, but you're ignoring my best talents. I'm willing to fight with you, but I know I will be a lot helpful using this. Now watch."

She walked over to a decent sized stone and punched it with her gauntlet hand. The power ram on the metal fist increased her power tenfold, shattering the stone. She looked back at him with an absolutely giddy grin, but he returned her smugness with an unimpressed stare. It wasn't that breaking a stone wasn't impressive, but it didn't really prove anything to him. If he had a power fist and a minimal amount of training, he could do the same thing.

"Okay, so you can break a rock. So what? Can you break an actual person with this fighting technique?"

"Of course!" She almost seemed insulted now by these questions that the Courier felt were mandatory to ask. "Even scribes are trained, you know. I'm an expert at steel form; practically trained in it since I could walk."

"Steel form?" It honestly sounded to him like Veronica had made that up to sound cool.

"The Brotherhood created their own form of martial arts back in the day, borrowing techniques from various forms. It's used for disarming foes and sending them off balance, but my favorite part of it is the punching. I'm great at punching things." Her eyes suddenly lit up like the lights of New Vegas themselves. "I'll show you. Fight me!"

"Fight you?" The Courier was simultaneously confused, amused, and afraid. He was confused by the sudden request of Veronica, but amused by the fact that this girl, this little thing who barely stood over five feet tall, wanted to fight him. That but that didn't suppress his fear. If she was actually trained by the Brotherhood in fighting techniques, chances were that she could probably kick his ass in a fight. He had been in a few fist fights in his life and they all took place in bars. Even though that retired NCR ranger back in Novac had taught him a fighting technique, it didn't make him feel any more confident. He had always preferred guns and machetes. Using weapons that were designed to kill made more sense in his mind.

"Look, Veronica, I'm not going to hit a girl," he said, trying to make an excuse. "Unless you're a raider. I hit all sorts of raiders."

"Trust me, you won't be able to hit me," she promised, giving him that cocky smile she had flashed earlier after crushing the rock. "Plus, I won't use my power fist, so I won't absolutely kill you. Maybe I'll just leave you a bruise to remind you how tough I am." She took the metal gauntlet off her hand and set it on the ground before taking a few steps back and raising her fists. "I'll even give you the first strike. You have the advantage and everything. What do you say?"

"I don't know if I-"

"Oh come on, afraid you'll get beaten by a girl?" she teased, trying to egg him on. "You wouldn't feel like a wasteland badass if that happened, right?"

"No," he admitted truthfully. "I just don't want to get my teeth knocked out. I'm one of the lucky ones out here who still have them all."

"Fine, I won't aim for your precious face then," she swore, placing her right hand over her heart. "Now come at me!"

"Hold on," he said, taking off his duster and pack so that none of his supplies would get damaged. _This won't end well._

The courier ran forth and threw a wild punch at the side of Veronica's head, but in a fluid motion, she sidestepped the blow by leaning back while simultaneously grabbing his arm. In a matter of milliseconds, she had straightened herself out and threw him over her shoulder without losing her balance at all. The young traveler found himself on the ground in a daze, unable to even make sense of what had just happened. He had expected the scribe to kick his ass, but to throw him like that… How could she be that strong?

"H-how did you do th-that?" he gasped as he tried to catch his breath.

"Years of hand-to-hand combat training," Veronica answered in fake modesty as she reached down and pulled him up by his other arm. "You alright? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, I'm alright, but I want a rematch, now that I know what's coming."

 _What are you trying to accomplish here?_ he thought to himself. Those thoughts were wasted as he stood up and raised his fists. This time, he tried jabs, rather than swings, knowing that they wouldn't leave him as open. It didn't matter. Veronica expertly blocked most of the strikes and dodged the others before lowering into a squat and sweeping him of his feet with her left leg. For the second time, he fell on his ass.

"Okay, that was… better," she laughed, helping him back to his feet. "At least you didn't leave yourself as open that time. Have I convinced you now?"

"Yes, but I want another shot," he demanded confidently. _Time to break out the move that Ranger Andy taught me._

"What, do you need your ass kicked again?" she teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Third time's the charm," he replied, shrugging briefly before taking a step back to begin. Again, he led off with several jabs, and like before, Veronica avoided each one with ease. However, once she was stiff in her blocking after absorbing three jabs aimed at the same place, the courier used both palms to push the scribe, sending her slightly off balance. As fast as he could, he swept his leg, but Veronica saw this coming and hopped over the appendage. When the Courier tried to move up into a surprise punch, Veronica read him like a book and clocked him with a perfect uppercut. He felt his vision go dark momentarily before falling over again. The world spun for a moment, but when he could see straight again, a worried scribe knelt over him.

"Oh God, I didn't break your jaw, did I?" she questioned, concern covering her pale face.

"Nah, nah, just a bruise. I've had worse. My ego on the other hand…" With a groan, he sat up on his own and stared at the dirt in disappointment. "I thought I could pull an upset that time with that… that thing."

"Yeah, what was that?" Veronica prodded, cocking her head in curiosity. "I've never seen that before."

"It's called a ranger takedown," the courier explained, now able to stand. He walked over to where he left his duster and slipped it back on. "NCR doesn't care much for unarmed combat as their main line of defense, but their rangers train for anything. A retired ranger back in Novac taught me the move, but I never use it. I'd rather use my guns. Or my blade if things get too close for comfort."

"Huh, well, better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it," Veronica responded, shrugging. Her grin fell when she noticed that her new traveling companion did not look so pleased. "You alright?"

"Eh, I don't know," he sighed, still looking down at the sandy earth. "You just made me feel really incompetent, that's all."

"Hey, now you know how I feel when you made me shoot at that stupid bottle," she laughed, and that alone made him smile some. "Besides, you're an expert with that gun of yours and I'm great with my fists. We're all good at something, right?" When he didn't answer right away, she gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "Right?"

He felt uncomfortable about that punch. He wasn't ready to be _that_ friendly with her, even with the few quips he threw her way. Still, he wasn't too upset about it.

 _Something about this girl…_ he thought to himself. "Well, I'll take consolation in the fact that I'm a better shot with a gun," he replied, smugly lifting his 10mm SMG from his duster that he had slipped back into. "You might be able to beat me in a straight up fight, but if I saw you coming, it'd be over before you could throw a punch." However, she just scoffed, though in good humor.

"Whatever you say, hot shot," she chuckled. "So can we agree that I don't need to blow up any more sarsaparilla bottles?"

"Well, again, having a long-range weapon is kind of a good thing out here. Again, would you rather punch a deathclaw or shoot it before it gets within arm's reach? I think-"

He was interrupted midsentence by a beeping noise coming from his Pip-Boy. "Excuse me, I gotta take this." He lifted his arm and stared at the message that he had received:

 **POWDER GANGERS**

"Fuck…" He looked back at Veronica, exasperated. Not at her though, but what this message implied. "Yeah, change of plans. We're going to Goodsprings. You have enough supplies for a day's hike, right?"

The look of confusion on Veronica's face was priceless as she tried to adjust to this sudden turn of events. "Goodsprings? I thought you were heading to the Strip. Why Goodsprings?"

"A while ago, they helped me out. I let them know that I'd help them out if I could, and it turns out I can." It was a simple explanation, but a truthful one, although he hid a lot of the details. "So, I'm going to Goodsprings to help them out with their Powder Ganger problem."

"Powder Gangers?" she questioned.

"You know, those NCR prisoners that-"

"I know who the Powder Gangers are," she interrupted, seeming slightly annoyed that he assumed she _that_ was ignorant about the wastes. "But a Powder Ganger problem? What kind of problem? What are we going to do?"

"Hopefully, I can help them settle this peacefully. No need for another shootout." He looked back at his Pip-Boy, analyzing the map for the best route to the little rundown town. "But those Powder Gangers… they're a bunch of murderous assholes. Like raiders, but not as dumb."

Veronica seemed a bit concerned. It was apparent by her hesitant expression and her posture. "You said another shootout. What was that all about? You fought them?"

"Yes, but that's not important now." He felt no need to go into details with her on this. "Look, bottom line is that I need to go back and take care of this. Odds are, we're going to get into a firefight, so if you come with me, I need to make sure that you'll listen to me and not get yourself killed. Understood?"

"Crystal," she replied, sounding assured, though she seemed a bit unnerved by this sudden change of plans. "You're a mystery, you know that? Suddenly running off to save a town?"

"Yeah, yeah, I have a hero complex. Let's not dig into that right now." The Courier looked over her robes and scowled. "Maybe you should get some armor. That robe doesn't look so-"

"I have armor under this," she told him assuredly, tugging her robe lightly, revealing the metal underneath. "It's light, but it does the job. At least I think it will. I've never actually been shot at before."

"Oh boy, you're in for a treat. But since you're not all that great with a gun yet…" He handed her his 10mm SMG. "Use this. If push comes to shove, just point this at your target and hold the trigger. At least one of the bullets will be bound to hit."

"Gee, I don't know if I should feel thankful or insulted," Veronica joked. "But thanks… wait, won't you need this though?"

It was true. The 10mm SMG was one of his favorite types of gun to use. It was light, packed a punch, and it was easy to clean. And here he was, handing his last one to a girl he hardly knew, only because it used ammo that he knew she carried on her. But somehow, he wasn't worried.

"I have other guns; hunting rifle, pistols, and the like. I used to have a caravan shotgun, but I had to sell it a week ago…"

 _Damn, I miss that thing,_ he lamented to himself. "But I do have other guns. He looked eastward. It was not going to be a fun trip. From what he had heard, the I-95 was full of all sorts of mutations, given the NCR's incompetence at clearing the roads. The Bull would have secured the roads by then, had they been in control, but the Bear… "It's gonna be a long walk through the I-95. If we start within the hour, we'll be there by early noon tomorrow. If you're still up for this, get your stuff and pick up any supplies you might need from the vendors. Sound alright?" He hoped that the idea of camping in the wastes would scare her off, but no such luck. That would be too easy.

"Sure, just give me a few, alright?" she chirped, completely unphased. How was she still smiling? Did she not realize what she was getting herself into? Well, she would soon enough.

"Sure. I'll let you do your thing." When she left him, he let out a short groan. He really did not want to return to Goodsprings. They were good people, sure, but he was hoping that they could take care of themselves, especially with the protection that he had left for them there. Still, after all they had done for him, he couldn't leave them high and dry.

"They better pay me for this." That was merc talk. But in those days, he had no choice. Money was something that he needed. To kill the time, he started walking to the space under the old bridges within the outpost. Above, he could hear Veronica chatting with a vendor, probably haggling for a decent price on food. Still, she sounded happy. It was as if she only had one emotional switch.

"Hello, Mister."

The courier turned to see a kid sitting cross-legged against the wall next to the old road, wearing clothes that had been torn to rivets. He looked very thin as if he hadn't eaten in days, but he was surrounded by a collection of objects ranging from old books to stacks of old world money to garden gnomes, all of which sat under one of the old world flags that hung above him on the wall. What was particularly strange was the thing he wore on his head. It looked like a metal headband of sorts. But this kid was all alone here, so was he an orphan? It was very possible. People died in the wastes every day, including parents. It was sad, but he knew the situation all too well.

"Hey, kid." He looked around as if he'd see his folks coming down the way. "You here all by yourself?"

The kid looked saddened, but still remained upbeat. "Yes. I don't have a mama or papa anymore. I see them sometimes when I take off my medicine, but they can't stay… but that's okay. I'm pretty used to being on my own."

"Ah…" _Take off his medicine?_ Whatever that meant. But the Courier felt bad for the kid. At least when his own mother died, he was old enough to travel the wastes on his own. This kid didn't look like he was older than ten. But he must have been doing alright, all things considered. The outpost was guarded by the NCR and the kid himself was surrounded by junk that he probably made enough scratch to get by on if he was selling it. "You selling this stuff?"

The child tilted his head. "Oh, I don't sell these things, sir. I sell thoughts."

"You sell thoughts…" the Courier repeated with the utmost skepticism. "Okay. So you aren't selling this junk? Oh, sorry, I mean this stuff that-"

"It's not junk, sir. That's other people's thoughts. People had to think to make them and the thoughts got stuck inside. If I don't have other people's thoughts to fill my head when I'm not thinking myself, it's kind of empty."

"… Riiiight."In his opinion, the kid was just plain spooky. He had seen plenty of weird things in the wastes, but he wasn't even sure what the kid was talking about. "So… thoughts? How does that work?"

"I can take off my medicine and do some thinking." He smiled and pointed towards the metal object on his head. "People say it's real interesting. I don't know because I never hear it. Some people say it's a gift. Others say it's the kind of thinking anybody can do if they watched more than they talked. I don't know. I see a lot and I think a lot. A lot of interesting things happen around here that may account for the thinking."

He sort of understood. "Ah, so you're like a fortune teller." He had seen those before; people who lived in towns, shrouding themselves in old, shawled wagons and spoke in cryptic ways as they looked into the future. They were full of crap as far as he was concerned. Any old bum could con somebody out of their money that way. But this kid seemed different, especially with that brace. What did he mean by taking it off?

The kid chuckled. "I guess you could say that. I can't take it off all the time though. It hurts whenever I do," he said, pointing at the brace again. "I could sell you some thoughts if you want."

 _It couldn't hurt,_ he thought to himself. He didn't believe the kid could actually look into the future, but the child was so skinny and dirty looking. The least he could do was humor the child, but if that brace alleviated pain, he'd have to give him more than just humor.

"I'd say yes, but I really don't have all that much to offer you in return." It was true. He barely had a cap to his name and he certainly didn't want to give a kid any of his weaponry or medical supplies.

"Anything you can offer would be appreciated," the child replied. "Honest."

"Well…" He reached into his pack and retrieved a can. "I can spare this Pork n' Beans. And…" With his other hand, he pulled out a few caps. "Six caps. I swear, if I had more to offer to you-"

"That's okay. I could use those things." Took the things from the courier's hands and set them at his side. "What do you want me to think about? You, here… everywhere?"

"Whatever you can, I guess. Just don't hurt yourself." He just hoped the kid wouldn't hurt himself too badly over a can of beans. The kid seemed undeterred, however.

"Okay. Here it goes. Just remember, when you're ready for me to tell you the thoughts, tell me what you want me to think about." He lifted his "medicine" from his head and placed it on his lap. Slowly, his mouth hung open as his eyes rolled back into his head. He remained like that for almost a minute before the Courier remembered what he had to do. He had forgotten, as the spectacle was already creeping him out.

"Oh, right… tell me about myself," he stuttered.

The child began to speak in a blank, echoing voice. " _Your face does the thinking - two to the skull, yet one gets up. Odds are against you... but they're just numbers after the two-to-one. You're playing the hand you've been dealt, but you don't let it rest, you shuffle and stack, and a gamble... a gamble that may pay off? But how? Forecast: Rapidly changing conditions."_

 _Holy shit._ From the beginning, he was already terrified of what he had heard. _Two to the skull?_ he thought to himself. _How the hell does he know that? Maybe he heard it on his radio there. Wait, does that mean he knows who I am?_ The rest of the message… a gamble? He didn't understand why he was told that. Life was always a gamble and the Courier himself liked to gamble, but...

"Here…" he said cautiously.

" _Local, local, the here and now... little of interest.. things to buy, false hopes, and regrets watered down, washed down in dirty glasses. With regret comes a girl... smiling sad, brown robe, name Veronica, half here. Wraps her and her heart up like a pack, in the pack, a key, some say. Forecast: Cloudy, with a chance of friendship."_

Another jolt rushed through his spine. He didn't care about the first half of the fortune, as he assumed the kid was talking about the other folks at the 188. But he mentioned Veronica directly. The courier wasn't sure how long the scribe had been at this rest stop, but it was possible that the kid knew her name by hearing her talk with anybody that had passed through. But the kid also said that she came with regret and a heart locked up like a pack. What did that mean? And more importantly, why did he care? She was a nice girl, but he hadn't reached the point of caring about her problems... Still, the kid's cryptic speaking was getting to him, especially since it involved the stranger that he had hesitantly agreed to let come with him. Yet, he still was curious about what this child would say next.

"Everywhere." He readied himself for the strangeness.

" _Bull and Bear over the Dam, at each other's throats... but a light from Vegas? Ball spinning on the wheel, more than two at the table. Placing bets. All lose in different ways. A dam of corpses, towns of corpses, scattered across the sand. But who's in what shares? Even the dealer doesn't know. Forecast: A rain of blood will flood the desert and not purify it."_

His blood ran ice cold, and he wasn't sure why. Everybody knew that the second battle at Hoover Dam was coming. Nobody knew when, but it was inevitable with the Bear on one side, the Bull on the other, and New Vegas somewhere in the mix. A light from Vegas… did that mean Mr. House? The man behind Vegas was thought to be a myth by some, though others guaranteed he was real. From what the Courier had heard, the man had robots and the families of Vegas behind him, but could they stand against the Legion or NCR, let alone both? But that was all common speculation. Why would the kid tell him that stuff? Or did he tell everybody who paid for his thoughts?

"Hey, I'm ready to go! You- What are you doing?" Veronica had appeared by his side, chipper and ready to head out. She glanced between him and the child, curious.

"Nothing… Nothing at all." Choosing his 9mm submachine gun and motioned it eastward. "Come on. We got to make it as far as we can before sundown." His nerves were rushing now and he really wanted a Med-X to calm them, but it obviously wasn't the time. He took a few steps out before looking back at the lonely child, who had put his brace back on. "Thank you, kid. Take care of yourself. If I ever come by again, I'll pay you with something better than an old can of beans."

"Take care, mister!" the kid replied with a weak wave and smile.

As the Courier and his new companion disappeared, the young boy looked at what he held in his left hand. He held a deck of cards that he hadn't had before. Gingerly, he pulled out random cards, looking at each of them carefully. The 2 of Hearts, the 9 of Spades, the Jack of Clubs, the King of Diamonds… he kept taking cards out, one by one, until there was one left. When he turned it over, he saw one of the deck's Jokers staring back at him. With that, he stacked the cards, wrapped them in a rubber band that he had in his pocket, and placed the deck next to his other "thoughts."


	3. Chapter 3: The Fox and the Hounds

**Chapter 3: The Fox and the Hounds**

BRA-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Dozens of bullets flew from the 10mm submachine gun as Veronica tried to steady her aim. Nearly every bullet whizzed by the radscorpion that charged towards them. That particular arachnid wasn't all that big; about the size of a large dog; maybe a little bit bigger. Still, the poison or puncture wounds from the arachnid could kill a man if they were left untreated.

"I can't hit it," Veronica growled, uncharacteristically irritated, at least from what the Courier had seen of her thus far.

"Wow, you're even a worse shot with the sub," the Courier commented. His 9mm submachine was aimed at the scorpion, but he wasn't shooting. He wanted Veronica to do it herself, though he'd shoot if he had no other choice. Finally, when the bug was ten feet away, she finally hit it in the face with several bullets and it fell into a slump.

"Yes!" Veronica cheered, clenching her fist. "Got one!"

"And it only took you your entire clip," the Courier lightly teased, only to receive a dirty glare.

"Hey, that's not cool. I would have got it earlier if it was only closer to-"

"You don't want to let these things get close to you. I've been stabbed by these things a million times and it never gets any less painful." He went to the dead scorpion, knelt down next to it, and began extracting the beast's venom gland with his hunting knife. The gland only weighed about a pound or so, but it would sell for a decent price. Such things were always in demand with doctors and chemists. After the gland was removed, he started to wrap it in cloth strips to keep it secure. "How did you deal with these things before if you couldn't shoot them? You didn't try punching them, did you?"

"No, I usually just ran," she admitted, shrugging. "They're persistent chasers, though."

"They are. Maybe you should carry a super sledge or something. It gives you a bit longer range than your fist."

She shook her head. "I'm better at punching things, but I see your point. Do you know if I could buy a laser pistol in Goodsprings?"

"It's possible. You'll have to ask around." He wouldn't have known if the armory there could help her or not, given his preference for regular old bullets.

Once the task of extracting the gland was done, he stood up and they kept walking. It was a cool day, but they kept a nice, even pace to avoid overheating and attracting the attention of the wasteland beasts. For a little bit, they didn't speak at all, but Veronica would have none of this.

"So, what exactly did Goodsprings do for you that makes you have to go play hero for them?" she asked directly.

"That's a little nosy, don't you think?" he questioned, knowing that Veronica didn't care that he'd rather remain silent.

"Well, if I'm going with you to fight a bunch of sadistic pyromaniacs, I'd like to know why," she joked, making light of the obviously real threat.

"Fair enough," he replied, already constructing a vague enough story that he could tell her without giving away too much personal information. "Not long ago, I had an injury. The people of Goodsprings were there to help me recover, and they were all very selfless about it, given that I still can't afford to pay them back. Essentially, they're the kind of small-town folks that are worth protecting because they're willing to stick their necks out for somebody else, even if it's an inconvenience for them. You ever meet a town like that?"

Veronica shook her head. "Can't say I have. I haven't socialized much outside of the bunker, and we… we're not the most generous sort." The last part of that statement sounded bitter to him.

"Well, they're worth it if you ask me, and not just because I owe them," he continued. "That's the reason I-" _Nevermind, let's not go there._ The sentence ended there, awkwardly unfinished.

Veronica gave him the eye. She seemed to be getting fed up all of the information that he was obviously withholding. "So, will you tell me anything about yourself?" she asked, breaking the silence. "I barely know anything about you, other than the fact that you used to be a courier, you're a good shot with a gun, you're paranoid as hell, and your hand-to-hand combat abilities are shoddy at best."

"Shoddy, huh?" he chuckled. "I resent that. I've won a bar fight or so in my day."

"Okay, so you're an aggressive drunk?" She clapped her hands together and her expression lightened with a big smile. "See, I learned something new. We're making progress!"

"I'm not that aggressive. They always start it," he retaliated. That was a lie, but it wasn't worth talking about any further.

"Well, what _can_ you tell me?" she asked, half whining now.

He sighed. "Well, what do you want to know?" There was no escaping her questions. There were a few gaps in his memory following the accident, but he still had most of his memory intact. The least he could do was tell her information that he felt comfortable sharing. _Just keep it vague._

"How old are you?" She squinted as she studied his face. "You look like you could be thirty, but I can't tell."

" _That's_ what you want to know?" He supposed it was an honest question, but to him, it felt like a random thing to ask. "Twenty-seven. You though… you look like you're seventeen." From where he was standing, she did look very young, but with that hood covering most of her head and her pale skin, untainted by the sun, he wasn't able to make a good judgment. The guess of her age was also based off of her general naiveté of the wastes, but if she had spent a lot of time indoors… _I wonder how many grocery runs she has done. How experienced is she in the outdoors?_

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Not even close. Twenty-six." She jumped to her next question. "Where are you from? Your accent doesn't sound like that of the typical wastelander."

He knew what she meant. People who lived on the wastes spoke slightly different than those who grew up in actual towns and cities. The country-livers' way of speaking was slightly less refined. "Montana," he answered. "It was a little farm town called the Grayfield. They grew a lot of wheat and potatoes up there, and they raised big horners. I've been on the road for about twelve years now."

"Twelve?" she questioned, surprised. "You left home at 15? What about your parents?"

"Mom is dead," he answered emotionlessly. "Never knew my father, though. Asshole ran out after he knocked mom up."

"Oh… I'm sorry," she replied genuinely in a somber tone. "My parents died a while back at Heli-" she stopped herself mid-sentence, forcing a smile back on her face. Whatever it was, she didn't want to talk about it. "They've been gone for a while."

"Ah…" But he was tired of being on the spot. "What about you?" he prodded. "Where is this 'hole in the ground' that you live in?"

"I'm not telling, that's confidential," she answered, still smiling, but slightly more serious. "I'd literally be excommunicated."

"Oh come on, really? I want to know so I can stay as far away as possible," he answered, half-joking, but still serious.

"You won't find it," she assured. "Trust me, we have a way of hiding from the outside."

"But you still can't tell me?" he asked persistently. "I told you where I'm from."

"Well, you still won't tell me your name, so I guess we're even," she fake pouted, crossing her arms.

"This again?" the Courier sighed, even deeper that time. "Why do you even need to know?"

"Because it's weird!" she exclaimed, stopping in her tracks to face him. "Seriously, I get that you're suspicious of everything that moves, but I want to be able to call you _something_! I don't even understand _why_ you won't tell me what your name is."

"Because I-… Ugh forget it," he groaned. "Do you really want to know what my name is?"

"Yes, please," she said, excitement in her voice as if she was going to learn one of his strangest kept secrets. "I promise I won't tell anybody if it's THAT important to you."

"Okay, okay." His smile faded and with a deep inhale, he told her what she wanted to know. There was absolutely no way that they'd be able to move past that subject until she got some sort of answer. "My name… my name is Zack Gilmore."

For a few seconds, Veronica inquisitively looked into his eyes as if she were trying to find some sort of hidden truth. After a few seconds of squinting, a wry smile reemerged on her face and she subtly shook here head. "No, it's not."

He raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"That's not your name," she said, calling his bluff.

"Yes, it is," he reaffirmed.

"No, it's not," she countered, giggling at his denial.

"Well, why the hell would it NOT be my name?" he questioned, frustrated with her but kind of humored at her disbelief. This charade actually made him chuckle. Why would anybody doubt that? "There are a lot of Zacks out there. Why wouldn't that be my name?"

"Because you don't look like a Zack," she answered in her cheery, yet dead serious voice.

"Well excuse me," he said, throwing his hands up, "but it's not like my mother knew when I was born whether or not I'd look like a Zack," he answered.

"Fine, fine, whatever you say, 'Zack,'" Veronica teased as she began to walk again. "But I'll find out the truth sooner or later about who you really are."

"Yeah, good luck with that," he murmured as he caught up with her.

They walked in silence again for another few minutes before Veronica tried to start another conversation. She began to chat about all the things that had been happening lately: the amount of Legion passing through the Mojave's crevices, the crackdown that NCR troopers had been enforcing on nearly anybody they came in contact with, and the strange rockets that had flown from the south that nearly everybody saw (that part woke the Courier up, but he gave nothing away.) He decided that it was as good a time as any to ask her about herself.

"So, you don't need to tell me where you live, but can I at least hear a little bit about you?"

"Um… I guess, but that depends," she said with a shrug and a light giggle. "Maybe I want to be mysterious too?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions, but you seem like you'd be an open book if it weren't for your… _affiliation_ , for lack of a better word." The Brotherhood was always about secrets, after all.

"No, you're right. Codex will do that to you, I guess," Veronica answered glumly, slightly scowling. "That, and the NCR are everywhere these days. But I'll tell you anything that's not top secret to an outsider that knows who I am, I guess."

"You guess, huh…" _How can I tell if she's being truthful or not?_ But he supposed as long as the questions were light, it wouldn't matter regardless. "Okay, here's one. You said you do the grocery shopping… what do you mean by that? You get them food or-"

"I was just stretching the truth when I said that," she interrupted with her explanation, smiling as she got to talk about her job. "I'm a procurement specialist. Replace food with scavenged parts and any technology I can find lying around. I'm pretty good at fixing stuff too, so there's that. The elder who brought us to the Mojave usually had me looking for these old memory units, but he'd never tell me what they were for. Nowadays, I'm usually sent to do business with traders at places like the 188." As she was explaining this, he noticed that her expression was falling from that smile she had been wearing to a small frown. "But sometimes, I think it's just to keep me out of everyone's hair."

 _Oh, that's promising._ And here he was, inviting her into his "hair", so to speak. "Keep you out of their hair? Again, I'm not going to regret bringing you with me, am I?"

She laughed. "Don't tell me you're regretting me already. We just started walking."

"Well…" He had no response for that, so he just changed the subject. "You… uh, you like it well enough? The job, I mean?"

She sighed, that smiling sad look on her face emerging. It reminded the Courier of what that creepy kid at the 188 had said. "I do… sometimes though it gets boring, getting sent out all the time just to go to trading posts."

"So, is that why you're with me then, looking for that _fresh perspective_?" He lightly teased her on that last part, reminding the scribe of its vagueness.

"Well, yeah…" Realizing that she was getting too depressing, she tried picking up the mood again by reassuring herself. "I do agree with what we're doing. Most of it at least. There's an honor to what we do. We're protecting people. Even if it's from themselves, it's a good purpose."

"From themselves?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. _By what, harassing them over plasma rifles?_ He knew enough about what the Brotherhood stood for. A chapter of the group lived near his old home in Montana. Just remembering them through what Veronica had just said brought a familiar taste to mind, and it wasn't sweet.

Veronica seemed to pick up the distaste from his question. "You don't buy what we're selling, do you?"

No comment. He didn't want to go down that road with her. So she continued without him.

"I can see why an outsider would be skeptical," she sympathized. "Sometimes it seems more like we're just protecting ourselves from the world and hope to outlive them and become humanity's sole heirs."

"Mmm, so that's what you're really doing?" _Wouldn't be surprised if she said yes._ But there was a certain amount of narcissism in the line about being humanity's sole heirs that made him cringe. Those probably weren't Veronica's words originally, but that bitter taste in his mouth returned.

"Yes, no… I don't know myself, sometimes," she admitted, looking a bit sad again. "There are chapters that went rogue, so maybe they had the same doubts. Some separated from us entirely. There's a chapter out east splintered and started helping people in the wa-"

"And what's wrong with that?" He had been trying to contain himself, but his emotion broke through right then, though only slightly. "I mean, that's what we're about to do right now, no? Going to help people."

"Yes, but that's not our purpose. It's not what we're meant to do in preventing further destruction." She was trying to explain this to him calmly without getting too flustered. "We take our separatism and isolationism very seriously because if we don't-"

"Then why did you decide to tag along with a complete stranger who's an outsider? If the isolation is so important to you and your people, isn't this search for a 'fresh perspective' against what you stand for?"

That did it. For the first time in a while, Veronica shut up. He must have struck a nerve with her, because her face went completely blank. But slowly, terror crept into her face as she stared ahead. He turned to look at what she was staring at and he saw the thing that warranted the response.

"Fuck…" the Courier hissed. About a hundred yards away, a lone deathclaw stood. It was an adult; standing at about nine feet tall or so, and the scaly, horned abomination had already spotted them. A snarl escaped its lips as it eyed them.

"Deathclaw…" Veronica gasped. Her pale face seemed to turn even paler. "It must have wandered in from the mountains. What do we… how do we…"

"Don't shoot yet, but have your gun aimed at its torso," he ordered. "You may get lucky and hit it there, and the belly isn't a bad place to aim on these things. I'll aim for the knees. A deathclaw that can't run is hardly a deathclaw." He looked at her powerfist that hung at her side. "If it gets too close, you may be able to punch it out, but that's a huge gamble." He did not like that situation at all. So many wastelanders got killed by random deathclaw encounters and he had been lucky enough to have not been offed by one by that point in his life.

"Don't shoot yet?" she whispered, panicked. "Shouldn't we shoot now while it's far away?"

"And what, call out more deathclaws?" he grunted back, annoyed with her ignorance. "They don't fear gunfire; they're attracted to it. The last thing we need is another deathclaw down here. Guns are a last resort. For now…" He adjusted his posture. "Stand up, look strong, and don't show fear. But don't look it in the eyes. They see that as a challenge."

The deathclaw snarled again, but it didn't move. The Courier prayed to whatever gods were listening that when the lizard did move, it would move on out of their way. He had killed deathclaws before, but whenever they got within arm's reach, he had always walked away with broken limbs at best. It was miraculous that he was even alive after encounters like that, but after surviving being shot in the head, perhaps that was par for the course.

Finally, the deathclaw rasped one last time before it continued walking north. Why it was leaving the mountains was beyond the Courier, but it was somebody else's problem now.

 _I hope those things go extinct one of these days._

"Jesus…" Veronica inhaled as she looked around wearily as if there was another mutant lizard lurking in the shadows. "Why didn't it attack us?"

"Because they're not stupid." he answered. "If you outnumber a deathclaw and you show no fear, they usually walk the other way. Now, if there were two deathclaws, they probably would have attacked without hesitation." He looked towards the mountains to see if he saw any others. Luckily, they were alone now. "We better be careful around these parts. Scorpions, cazadors, deathclaws… don't let your guard down."

"Yeah, why exactly did we take this road again?" Veronica questioned, her eyes darting about. "The I-15 is dangerous. Maybe we should have gone south and around. It would have been safer."

"No, it would take too long and I don't know the level of danger Goodsprings is in. They might need us now. Cutting directly through the mountains would probably kill us, given the number of deathclaws in this area and the sandstorms in between." He looked southward and grimaced. "Besides, we'd have to cut through Nipton… and I'm not going that way again. I've already cut through there three times since and it gets worse every time. I can't go there again."

"Nipton? Nipton…" Veronica scratched her head, almost knocking her hood off. "That's the place that the Legion decimated, right?"

"That's an understatement," he answered, not looking into her eyes as he stared into the space ahead. "It's… none of those bodies were cleaned up, you know. Each time I've passed through, the smell… it's rancid." His nose scrunched at the thought. After all the years he had been on the road and after all he had seen, the smell of a decaying body still disturbed him.

"So… we're taking the dangerous route because it smells better?" Veronica joked. She half-heartedly laughed at her comment, but she could see that her companion wasn't amused as he looked forward with a distant stare into nothingness. "It's something else, isn't it?"

"I was there… Not when it happened, but right after." He left it at that. He didn't tell her that what he had seen had struck the fear of God in him.

"Why… what did you see?"

"Let's not talk about this." He quickened his pace, but he was stopped dead in his tracks by the light hand that touched his shoulder. _Why is she touching me?_ He turned to see Veronica, staring into his eyes with her large, brown ones.

"Zack…" she began, her voice soft and sympathetic, "I know we only just met, but you can trust me. With your real name, with this…"

The can of worms had been opened. At that rate, he might as well tell her what he saw, as he doubted she could use it against him. "I can tell you. I mean, what happened down there is public knowledge by now. Just don't expect this to mean that I'm suddenly an open book."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she kidded. But that was the last time she kidded with him for the rest of the day.

* * *

 _As he walked down the main road of what was once Nipton, he felt as if he was a ghost walking through some sort of surreal fantasy dreamed up by a sociopathic arsonist. Most of the buildings had been burned to the ground and the ones that had been left standing were still aflame. The combined smell of burning wood, rubber, and garbage could not compare to the foul stench of burning flesh that he smelled coming from the town hall. Alongside the streets, makeshift crosses had been erected, each bearing a man or woman of a different stripe. Some simply looked like they would have been townies, but some of the men wore NCR uniforms, Powder Ganger suits, and even Legion armor._

" _Crucifixion," he whispered to himself. It was a Legion massacre. Only the Legion crucified people. But there were Legion men on the crosses as well. What did that mean? Whatever the case, he needed to find the mayor. Ghost of the NCR was counting on him to do the job and she was offering a lot of caps for him to do it. It was the promise of payment that kept him walking through the nightmare, though the closer he got to the burning flesh, the queasier he felt. But it got even worse with each step when he started to hear the "splishing" of a puddle below his shoes. That's when he noticed the flowing trickle of blood that flowed underneath him, flowing from two large piles of something in front of the town hall. That "something" was bodies, and that's when he saw the mongrels chewing on the bloody limbs. One of them turned, a severed hand in its mouth, and it growled at his presence._

" _Oh God…" That almost made him puke, but he held it in. He was more concerned with the fact that those dogs were there in the first place. They looked like the breed that Legionaries trained, and if they were there, the Legion was probably still there as well._

 _That was when he had enough. Fuck the mayor. He didn't want to get hung up on the cross the others. He was just going to run back to the outpost as fast as he could and just say that they were all dead. The ones on the cross pretty much were. But the door of the town hall opened and a large group of men appeared. Most of the men were obviously Legion. Some of them were wearing old world sports equipment as armor, but a few of the soldiers were wearing thicker, golden-colored, metal armor, resembling that of realistic roman armor that the Courier had seen in old world books. Some of the other metal armor worn by the men was pieced together from NCR and Brotherhood armor. All of them were equally frightening. They had no fear of him, and rightfully so. He was just a lone courier with a 10mm submachine gun in his shivering hands, facing a group of a dozen soldiers, carrying machetes, spears, and guns of their own. And they weren't the only Legion there._

 _More men exited the town hall, escorting multiple persons wearing collars around their necks. They had been enslaved and each one looked more terrified than the next. But the soldiers seemed to ignore their new slaves as they formed a large circle around him, the Courier, though their weapons were not drawn. They were working to intimidate him, but they were unconcerned. Only a fool would try to fight that many Legion soldiers at once and they knew that he wasn't foolish enough to try._

 _The final man exited the hall. Compared to the other men who surrounded the Courier, the man looked a lot older. Fifties maybe? The Courier wasn't sure. The man wore dark-gold armor, dark gauntlets, a red skirt (for lack of a better word), and the red and gold banner of the Legion's bull posted on his back. On his head, he wore the skinned head of a coyote. He looked like a vexillarius with the banner and the coyote cap, but that couldn't be right. Vexullarius weren't normally the leaders of legion groups and something about that man gave away that he was leading. Maybe it was the way he walked, which was much "looser" compared to that of his comrades. Maybe it was the smoothness of the withdrawal of his ripper upon seeing the Courier. But it had to be that smile. Among the carnage, the Legion that surrounded him wore stern, unchanging expressions, but the leader had a strange smile on his face, as if he enjoyed what he saw. The smiling man walked up to him, stopping within five feet. He looked at the courier's gun and laughed a slow, cold chuckle. Suddenly, the Courier noticed the severed head that the man carried in his left hand, though he couldn't see the face._

" _What shall we do with this one?" one of the legionnaires asked in a blank yet firm tone. "He is not of this town, nor was he visiting when we took over."_

" _Let him live," answered the man with the coyote hood in a voice that was unnaturally chilly. He narrowed his eyes as he scanned the Courier. "He may be dissolute, but he is not of the Bear. This much I know." The leader began a slow walk, circling the lone, shuddering courier. "Besides, look at his torn armor and his careworn weapon. He is poor. You did not come to partake in the sins of this town, have you?"_

 _No response. He wasn't even sure what he could say in a situation like that._

 _The leader extended his ripper and tapped the tip of the Courier's gun. "I suggest that you place your gun on the ground. There is no reason for you to hold it now, unless you decide to foolishly throw your life away."_

 _That was an easy choice to make. Even with V.A.T.S., there was no way that he would be able to survive a fight with all of the legionnaires. Not that he wanted to start one anyway. The Legion was not to be trifled with. Raising both of his hands, he knelt and laid his gun on the ground before slowly standing once more. He felt naked without a weapon in hand during that confrontation, even if it couldn't save him._

" _Very good. For a common vagabond, you seem to have some sense about you. Or perhaps you aren't common?" The coyote-hooded man focused his attention on the Courier's right temple. "Though they have healed nicely, I see two bullet wound scars on your head. Such an injury is rarely survived. Are you the rumored courier from Goodsprings?"_

 _Again, no answer._

" _Are you a mute?" the hooded soldier asked._

" _No," he replied, looking forward. Like with deathclaws, he wouldn't look the man in the eye. He couldn't. Even without the surrounding carnage, the man scared the living shit out of him even more so._

" _Then why have you said nothing of this beautiful sight?" he asked, pointing his ripper outwards at the bloody scene. "Why are you here, if not for engaging in the sins of the impure?"_

" _The outpost s-sent me to ask for the mayor," he answered in a stutter. "I am not of the NCR, but I-"_

" _Of course," the hooded man interrupted, uncaring. "Your world is harsh and unforgiving, courier. You do what you must to survive. That, I do not hold against you" His smile grew a little bit more evil, if that were possible. "You wish to see the mayor?" He held up the head, letting it spin by the hair, presenting the man himself. "I'll let you take this back to the Bear. Show them what we have done. In fact…" He looked around as if the scene provided him with some sort of sustenance. "You need not worry. As I've said, I won't have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates. It's useful that you happened by."_

" _Useful?" the Courier asked, not understanding. "How do you mean?"_

" _You see what we have done here?" he asked, his voice almost awestruck. "I want you to witness the fate of Nipton, to memorize every detail. And then, when you move on, I want you to teach everyone you meet the lesson that Caesar's Legion taught here, especially any NCR troops you run across." The man pronounced Caesar with a hard "C", like most of the Legion. The Courier wasn't sure why he had picked up on that detail, as it was the least of his worries._

" _Lesson? What lesson did you- the Legion, teach here?"_

 _The hooded man snorted with contempt, humored by the Courier's ignorance. "Where to begin? That they are weak and we are strong? This much was known already. But the depth of their moral sickness, their dissolution? Nipton serves as the perfect object lesson." When the Courier said nothing, the man continued to speak. "Nipton was a wicked place, debased and corrupt. It served all comers, so long as they paid. Profligate troops, Powder Gangers, men of the Legion such as myself…" he snorted again, this time, humorless. "The people here didn't care. It was a town of whores. For a pittance, the town agreed to lead those it had sheltered into a trap. Only when it sprang did they realize that they were caught inside it as well._

" _We captured everyone and herded them to the center of town. I told them their sins, the foremost being disloyalty. I told them that when Legionnaires are disloyal, some are punished, the others made to watch. And I announced the lottery. Each clutched his ticket, hoping it would set him free. Each did nothing when 'loved ones' were dragged away to be killed." He pointed at the nearest man who was taking his last breaths on a cross. "Do you understand why we have done what this now?"_

 _No, he didn't. Destroying a town and killing people just because they were a group of pimps and whores seemed extreme, especially to someone such as himself who had partaken in vulgar pleasures during his lifetime. "These people… you killed women, children, innocent-"_

" _Innocent?" the man of the Legion asked as if the courier had said something funny. " Hardly. Cowardly though. They outnumbered us, yet not once did they try to resist. They stood and watched while their fellows were butchered, crucified, and burned, one by one. They stood and hoped their turn would not come. Each cared only for himself." He turned from the courier and looked northward. "Such a principle is the driving force of House's New Vegas as well. Like the Bear, he shall fall too to the Legion."_

 _He knew better than to continue to question this man's morality. There was no way he could change his mind and it would be foolish to try with all of the legionnaires and their trained hounds surrounding him. Still, he wanted to know who the sadistic, hooded man was, though through doing so, he would induce nightmare upon nightmare in his future._

" _Who are you?"_

 _The man snickered, removing the dark shades he was wearing and his coyote cap, giving up his anonymity for the sake of face to face intimidation. And how intimidating he was. He was definitely in his fifties; his wispy, white hair and the few wrinkles on his face acting as a giveaway. But those eyes… those piercing gray eyes… alongside that wicked smile, those features made him more fearful than looking into the eyes of a deathclaw._

" _I am Vulpes Inculta of Caesar's Legion," he answered, his voice both cold and proud. "I serve my master as the greatest of his Frumentarii. We Frumentarii are soldiers of a different stripe, capable in battle but skilled as infiltrators as well."_

 _Frumentarii: the spies of Caesar. They were everywhere across the west, posing as regular civilians and fulfilling Caesar's orders through means of trickery, rather than brute force. And unlike the other members of the Legion, the Frumentarii would deviate from the code of their faction for the sake of advancement of Caesar's orders. That was also terrifying; at least most legionnaires were predictable in their actions but not the Frumentarii. And Vulpes, the grinning fox, was their leader and he had no problem revealing who he was just to get a scare._

" _I can see in your eyes, courier, that you are terrified with what you have witnessed… good. Even if you disagree with our principles, it matters little, so long as you teach the lesson of what you have witnessed to the Bear and those who follow. For we, the Legion, are civilization reborn. As you know, our culture is based on virtues such as martial excellence, loyalty, and justice. But you'll learn all there is to know in due time. Legatus Lanius, the Monster of the East, will soon arrive to command Caesar's troops in battle. The Dam will fall, and the rest of the Profligate west will soon follow."_

" _Legate Lanius?"_

" _Legatus Lanius, Monster of the-"_

" _I know who the Legate is." The Monster of the East's reputation was well known. The Courier had asked about it out of surprise, as Lanius coming to the Mojave was like being visited by a god, given the stories he had heard of the man brutalizing entire tribes single-handedly with nothing but a monstrous sword that could slice through solid steel as if it were butter. But he regretted interrupting the Frumentarius. Though the man was still smiling that dastardly smile, he should have known better than to interrupt a man that could have him killed at a moment's notice._

" _In Lanius, Caesar has found his hammer," Vulpes continued, unconcerned. "He's never been defeated in battle. Fourteen tribes have laid down arms at his boots. Another five rendered extinct. His latest campaign in the wilds of Utah is concluding, and he is en route. When he arrives, the doom of the west arrives with him."_

" _And then Caesar… he'll take New Vegas in his struggle with the NCR?" He could have sworn he heard somebody's safety click off at that question._

" _Bold words, Courier. His pursuits are not a struggle. It was the actions of the previous legate that led to our loss at Hoover Dam. But Caesar himself is a man of towering intellect, the founder of the Legion, and the conqueror of 86 tribes. He is the salvation of mankind and his Legion the rebirth of civilization in a benighted age. But do not worry. You'll know him well when you serve him. Or you'll be dead. Either way, his rule will be law soon enough."_

 _He did not say anything to Vulpes that time. What could he say? He needed to get away from Nipton and from those people, both the living and the dead._

" _Now, we must part. These new captures must be brought away to be conditioned for our purposes. So, Courier, I bid you 'Vale'. Until we meet again." With one swift motion of his hand, he led his legionnaires and their new slaves away._

 _Those poor souls… doomed to assimilate with the Legion. That wasn't right. He had seen slavers before, but none like the Legion. Most of those people would probably die at the hands of the Legion, but those who survived would lose themselves in the process. But there was nothing he could do about it… almost nothing._

" _Vulpes!" he called out, trying to sound forceful, but failing as his voice cracked. The entire crowd, Legionnaires, slaves, and dogs alike turned to face him._

" _Yes, Courier?" he asked, uncaring._

" _Let me buy some of your new captures from you." At this very suggestion, there was chuckling among the soldiers, but Vulpes silenced them with another wave of his hand._

" _We are not slavers, Courier. You cannot buy what these people will give to us. The men shall become soldiers, these women, bearers of children, and the children, our future. Why should we sell even the weakest of our captures to you? We are saving these people from corruption."_

 _He already knew what to say. "Consider it advertising. You sell me all the slaves that I can afford and then they go on to tell the world what they know and how the Legion had taken what they could with little effort. When asked why they are free, they will answer that they were spared to send that message. Then, you can use what money I give you to further your pursuits. Does that sound alright?"_

 _Vulpes snickered. "What do you have to offer?"_

" _200 caps." That was the money he had just gotten for doing NCR work. It was a nice chunk of change that he would have loved to use to buy bullets and booze, but that was more important. "It's all that I have."_

" _That is a minuscule amount to offer for a life," Vulpes answered coldly. But he nodded his head. "But I will accept it for the purchase of any one of our adult, female captures. That is my offer. Do you accept?"_

" _Yes." He walked forward and looked at the cluster of slaves. Singling out the women, he looked them over. Most of them were young; probably prostitutes in a town that had such a sleazy reputation for serving anybody who paid. But it didn't take long for him to make his decision. "Her." He pointed at a dark-skinned woman of about twenty, her hair cropped short. He had chosen her for a specific reason._

" _The pregnant whore?" Vulpes asked, disgusted. "She carries a child. That is worth the price of two."_

" _You said any adult, female slave," the courier answered. "Or are you a liar?" One of the legionnaires pointed his hunting rifle the Courier in response to the accusation, but Vulpes motioned for him to lower his weapon._

" _To many, yes. To you, I will not. The girl is yours. Free her." One of the legionnaires unlocked the woman's collar and pushed her at the Courier, who caught her in mid-push. Vulpes moved toward the courier and held out his hand. "Your payment?"_

" _Certainly." The courier took four wraps from his pocket, each holding fifty caps. He dropped them into the Frumentarius's hand._

" _Very good," Vulpes said as he put the caps in one of his pockets. "Let us shake hands as a sign of a trade well made." He held his hand out again. The Courier felt sick to his stomach about shaking Vulpes's hand, but he knew that not doing so could be disastrous. He held out his own in return and they shook. But Vulpes would not let go._

" _You are an interesting man, courier. A better man than this girl is worth, willing to give what little you have in the name of what you believe in. All of that to save such an abomination... Let us hope, however, that you know better than to trifle with us in the future. Your caps cannot buy the Legion." One last time, his piercing gray eyes stared at him before he let go of the courier's hand. "Vale."_

 _The legionnaires took their prize and left, leaving the Courier and the pregnant woman in the middle of the bloody square._

" _Thank you…" The woman tried to hug him, but the Courier pushed her away._

" _We need to move," he ordered. "I'm heading back to the outpost. With luck, I should make enough change from this job to pay for somebody to escort you to somewhere that's safe." More caps down the drain. Still, after what he saw, caps were the last thing on his mind._

* * *

They camped out near a steep mountain base. The Courier had picked the location since the slope was too steep for deathclaws to walk on and the flatland around them was unobstructed. Still, they kept the fire low to prevent bringing attention to themselves.

Since telling the story, little was said between the Courier and Veronica. They were sitting by the glowing coals, eating from old cans in silence. The courier's eyes darted back and forth, keeping a lookout between bites of his Pork 'n Beans. The nights in the wasteland were dangerous, and not just because of the deathclaws. Feral ghouls that strayed out in that direction were uncommon, but still a threat. While they were out of Jackal territory and not quite in Fiend territory, raider attacks were possible as well. But even then, raiders and ghouls weren't what really scared him, though they contributed to his nerves. He absolutely hated camping outside, but he did his best to hide his anxiety. The last thing he wanted was Veronica knowing how antsy he was. He still felt unsure about his telling her of his Legion encounter, even though he left out details that would have given away who he was.

"You've been quiet," the Brotherhood scribe finally said, cutting the silence.

"So have you," he replied, scooping out another spoonful of pork.

"Well, I'm not sure what to say," she continued, setting her empty can at her side. "You saw those people dying on crosses. You saw the Legion staking their claim. I can't even imagine-"

"Then don't," he answered, washing the beans down with his canteen. That was the last of his food. "It's a nasty image."

"Yeah…" Veronica stood up and moved to his side before plopping down next to him. He felt uncomfortable from her sudden closeness, but he didn't show it, like he how he hid a lot of things. "Is this why you're so high-strung? Because of what you saw? Is that why you kept telling me about how you're trying to stay out of the Legion's way?"

At first, he said nothing. Showing weakness to somebody who didn't know him was a misguided move to make. Still, he had somebody to talk to about it, which alleviated some of the fear he felt. Was that worth it? He had been quiet about it for so long, so maybe it was. And again, could Veronica use that story against him in a meaningful way if she wanted to?

"The Legion…" he began, looking into the flames. "They terrify me. Their soldiers terrify me. Their methods terrify me. Their general anti-technology, sexist, militaristic, imperialistic, slave-driving philosophy terrifies me. And that Vulpes Inculta…" He cringed when the man's face reappeared in his mind. "I don't think I've ever met anybody that has chilled my blood like he has, every time I've seen him... Something about that man is just…" He shuddered at the thought. If he ever saw that man again, it would be too soon. "The fact that all those people were killed to make a statement…"

"Zack…" Veronica's voice had returned to softness. "I can't imagine what it must have been like to see that." Her eyes widened as she came to a new realization. "You said every time you've seen him. You've seen this Vulpes Inculta again?"

No response. That was not something he was ready to share. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to.

"I get it. You have that distant reputation to keep." She showed him a small smile before lightly patting him on the back. "But if you change your mind, I'm here to talk. Okay?"

 _But we just met today._ Still, he couldn't help but feel warm about the fact that she seemed pretty genuine, even if he didn't completely trust her yet. "Sure," he replied. "I'm not tired. You want me to take first watch?"

"Sure." Within the minute, her bedroll was unwrapped and she was wrapped up within it. "Wake me in a few hours?"

"Sure, get some sleep," he ordered.

"Thanks… I actually feel comfortable about sleeping out here. Having you around makes me feel a lot safer."

"You're too kind," he replied, knowing that if she knew how much of a nervous wreck he was, she wouldn't feel that way at all.

He watched her for a few minutes as her eyes fell shut and her breathing evened out. He sighed. He already slightly regretted letting her come with him. While he ended up being okay with telling her about Nipton, her constant prodding into his personal life was somewhat irritating. The last guy that traveled with him respected his space far more to his liking. On top of that, she couldn't shoot straight to save her life and she had no real place to use her combat skills.

Still, with that regret came some comfort. Having conversations with her was nice, even if they made him feel on edge. Veronica herself seemed alright, but he wasn't ready to trust her much more at that point, especially with her being with the Brotherhood and all. But was she really with the Brotherhood anymore? The fact that she just ran off with the first guy that accepted her presence, neglecting her duty as a "grocery bringer" without hesitation… it seemed like she was running from something. Maybe that spooky kid from 188 was right with that fortune he told.

"Ugh, I can't think about this. My nerves are fucking me again." And it wasn't just the thoughts that drove him crazy. Every night when he was camping in the wilderness, he couldn't sleep without the proper aid. Each little sound rattled him. Even with friendly faces nearby, he couldn't get anything more than a light sleep of a few hours at best. Like he feared the Legion, he feared the things that went bump in the night.

 _But she's asleep now. Thank God._

He dug into his pack and pulled out a small box, containing another one of his secrets: twelve fresh Med-X syringes. He grinned like a greedy child who found a stash of sweets. If there was one thing that he'd splurge on aside from soap and drinks, it was Med-X. It was an easy drug to get, as most doctors sold it in large quantities without question. Plus, in small doses, the drug was much less dangerous and much more soothing than jet. But more importantly, it was the only way he could get any sleep outside ever since... everything.

Even though he was on watch, the high would still help him relax for the time being and sleep later on. He stuck his arm, injected the serum, and his smile grew even larger as his head began to swim.

 _Feels so damn good._ For the next hour or so, he wouldn't be worrying so much about anything.

* * *

 **Just so everybody knows, I may be taking a lot more creative liberties in this story's future chapters. Thanks for reading thus far!**


	4. Chapter 4: The Goodsprings Club

**Chapter 4: The Goodsprings Club**

"Zack" was nothing short of a mystery. That was really all Veronica could say about her new traveling companion. Though "boss" was probably a more appropriate term for him. He was kind of pushy, always telling her what to do since traveling with him. Then again, she knew what she had signed up for from the moment he revealed himself to be a stick in the mud. Still, she wished she could understand why he was just too secretive. Hell, even when he told her the story about Nipton, she could tell that he was leaving out details. He was so private that she still didn't know his real name.

That wasn't to say that he was as cold as stone, however. He would talk with her, laugh at her jokes, crack some of his own, and smile at everything in between. But that didn't take away from the fact that he was very uptight. Every time she tried to ask him about anything, he'd dodge the question. Whenever she tried to touch him out of some sort of comradely, he'd push her hand away. But he couldn't have always been like that. He'd have to relieve the pressure somehow. He told a few vague stories about close friends that he had in the past, so why was he so distant in the present?

"There it is. Goodsprings." In the distance, she could see the little buildings, but the place looked like a ghost town. What about it did he like so much? He said that there were good people there, but why did they need his help? Who would even target such a rundown location? The Brotherhood patrols never passed by it, calling it primitive and not worth their time, but for Zack, it was something special.

"Is it safe for us to just walk in?" Veronica asked, hesitant. "What if the Powder Gangers are already there?"

"We'll see," he answered, unafraid of the consequences. "Eddie and I had a little chat after that last skirmish. I did him a few favors, so hopefully, he won't be a moron. If he is… he'll pay for it." By the sound of his tone, it seemed that Zack was expecting for the guy to be a moron after all.

"Eddie?" she asked.

"Eddie is the guy who's leading the Gangers at the old NCRCF. Ever since they took control of that old prison, he's been coordinating attacks on travelers and caravans in the area. He's not the smartest guy around, but compared to most of the raiders in these parts, he's a damn genius. After the last skirmish we had with them, I managed to get him to visit Goodsprings so we could strike a truce. But I guess things aren't working out now."

"Apparently…" A thought suddenly occurred to her, though it was unrelated to the serious threat of convicts running roughshod over the wastes. "You said before that you know these people; that they're good, selfless folks. You like them?"

"A lot," he added, smiling. "The wastes are full of assholes, Veronica. But you know, there's an exception to every rule and these people are quite the exception after everything they've done for me."

"And what exactly did they do for you?" she asked, hoping that she'd learn _something_ this time. But before he could open his mouth to make an excuse, somebody's voice cut through the air.

"You!" The voice was feminine, but also sort of rough and dull. It came from a young woman standing near the closest building. She looked young (Veronica guessed twenty or so), had long, strawberry-blonde hair, carried a varmint rifle and wore leather armor. By her side stood a wolfish dog that barked once or twice at their arrival.

 _Cute girl… very cute, actually._ Veronica actually couldn't remember the last time she saw a girl that cute out in the Mojave. But the girl didn't seem to notice her at all, as she paid far more attention to Zack.

"Sunny Smiles. It's been awhile." Zack smiled, putting his pistol in its holster. "A bit too long, if you ask me."

"Whose fault is that? You never visit or write." She seemed genuinely upset, even with her monotone voice.

"Oh, I figured you were a tough chick. Didn't expect you to miss me." He was smirking, seemingly teasing her now. Was it some sort of game to them, or just him?

"Well, I didn't," she replied adamantly. "Cheyenne did, though." She stroked her dog's furry head. "You could at least come by more often to say hello to her. She'd like it."

"I'm sure she would, but you know me. Can't hang around this lonesome town forever, you know?"

Silence. The scribe felt a bit awkward as if she had been forgotten about as the two people shared their very weird moment. It got even weirder when they both started laughing. Then, it got even weirder: he hugged her. Veronica barely knew him, but seeing Zack hug somebody just seemed so alien and unnatural to her that she didn't know what to even think of it. Who was this guy?

"It's good to see you, Sunny." He said, squeezing her a bit tighter.

"Yeah, you too. Though you could come by a bit more often. Nobody around here is as fun as you."

 _Zack? Fun?_ That had to be some kind of joke.

"Nobody?" he asked as he released himself from the hug knelt down to pet Sunny's dog. "I'm sure Easy Pete is a real party animal after a few drinks."

"Sure, that would be better than nothing if it were true," she moped. When he stood back up, she reached out and touched the right side of his forehead. "The bullet wounds look like they healed up pretty nice. Looks a lot better than I figured-"

"Wait, wait, hold on a second," Veronica interrupted, finally gaining everybody's attention. "Bullet holes? On your head? What the- how did-"

"Oh, I forgot for a second," Zack interrupted in return. She could see the urgency in his eyes. "Sunny, this is Veronica. She started traveling with me yester-"

"Yes, yes, good to meet you," Veronica rushed, happily shaking Sunny's hand but not losing focus. _Not this time._ "You were shot in the head and survived? How the hell-" It suddenly all came to her. The bullet scars, his former career, his love for Goodsprings, that comment he made about rising from the grave back when they first met… How could she not see it before? Of course, she felt like a moron for not putting together the pieces together. "You're not a courier, you're THE Courier!"

His face turned a shade whiter than her skin. "You wanna shout that out again to the world, Veronica?" he whispered fiercely. "I don't think everybody heard you."

"Sorry, sorry, I just got excited." _Understatement._ Her adrenaline was rushing now. She just so happened to tag along with the Courier, the one that Mr. New Vegas talked about on the radio. How lucky was that? He had been the biggest urban myth for the past month, but now she had proof that he was real. But why was he trying to hide it? "I just can't believe you're the Cour- I mean, you're _him_!"

"What, you didn't tell her?" Sunny asked in disbelief. "Shouldn't she know if she's gonna go travenlin' with you?"

"Yeah, when _were_ you going to tell me?" Veronica asked, half teasing, half serious, playfully punching Zack in the shoulder. As expected, he recoiled at the hit. _Still…_ Why was it that the only time he was comfortable with her touching him was when they were sparring?

"I… I gotta go find Trudy; talk with her about what's going on. She's in the bar, right?" He waited for Sunny's nod before walking briskly to the nearest building. Like that, he was gone, dodging another question.

"Typical," Veronica muttered, rolling her eyes. She knelt next to the girl's dog, petting the mutt's head. The dog licked her face once before turning to face her master. The scribe noticed that Sunny was looking at the door that Zack had walked too, her eyes gazing into space. Was that longing? Maybe that explained the teasing earlier. Hell, for all she knew, they could be dating.

"So, are you his girlfriend or something?" Sunny asked dryly, turning to face her.

 _Well, scratch that theory._ She blushed somewhat at the suggestion. "Oh, no, no. I just met him yesterday. I needed somebody to travel with and he was nice enough to let me come with him." He was also nice enough to accept the fact that she was Brotherhood, but she wasn't going to say anything about that. Odds were that if people in the town weren't neutral to the Brotherhood of Steel, they probably hated them. It was not worth the risk.

"Well, you couldn't have picked a better man," Sunny commented, an assured smile on her face. "He's a damn good shot and a good guy in general, even though he's a bit… pessimistic at times." She looked back at the door that the Courier entered, checking to see that he was still gone. "But a word of advice: he's not into long-term commitment. I don't know if that carries over to his traveling companions, but just so you know."

"Oh… well, that's good to know." Veronica couldn't help but grin. Piece by piece she was learning more about Courier Zack. But she wanted to know more. "Sunny, what's Zack's real name?"

"Zack? Who the hell is Za-" She paused suddenly before bursting into a snicker. " _That's_ what he told you his name was? He hasn't even told you yet, has he? He doesn't even look like a Zack."

"That's what I said too," Veronica replied, a light laugh in her voice. Maybe she'd finally learn. "But what is it? He won't tell me. I don't understand."

"Sorry, can't tell you that if you don't already know," she answered with a shrug. "When he left the first time, he asked that we not tell anybody who he is or that he was… you know… dead."

"Of course he did," Veronica sighed. It was as if he knew months in advance that she'd be asking those questions. "Thanks anyway."

"Beep-beep-buzzit!"

Veronica turned to see a little robot floating a few feet away. It was a spherical little thing with multiple antennae, a little zapper that probably ran on energy cells, an armored speaker on the front, and thick, metal plating. On this plating, there were patches of metal that had been fused to its frame, probably to cover up damages. The robot was facing her, most likely scanning her for its data banks. Veronica stared back, her eyes squinting in suspicion. She had gone through enough Brotherhood education to know what that robot was.

"I see you met ED-E." Zack had returned, accompanied by a dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties. He looked even happier, as if the little town had cast a spell on him. "I missed this little bastard. Found him in a heap of scraps down in Primm. I don't know much about robots, but all I needed to do was replace a few wires and he was as good as new… or at least as good as he was before he cracked." At these words, the robot buzzed happily as it hovered close to him.

"You realize what this robot is, don't you?" She was being completely serious and she needed him to understand why she was concerned. "This is Enclave technology."

"Well, obviously. You don't see any eyebots anymore, though. They're going extinct, I guess. ED-E here is pretty special. Looks like he was built for combat purposes." He knocked his fist against the bot's armor. "Never seen one of these ones until this guy."

"But that doesn't bother you?" she asked. "Eyebots transmit video and sound recordings. Aren't you worried about the Enclave?"

"Hardly," the Courier chuckled. "His communications relay was damaged. Can't send messages like it used to. We had him tweaked so he could send messages to my pip-boy like the one we received yesterday, but other than that, he's completely cut off. And he seems to recognize me as his primary. I can accept that, considering how strong he is."

"Then why don't you bring it with you on the road?" she asked, though she was glad he didn't. She didn't trust this thing.

"You kidding?" he asked in mild disbelief. "The Enclave might be in shambles, but you know what happens if some supporter of them finds me with an eyebot? Or a Brotherhood member that recognizes it as rare tech for that matter? Or an NCR guy that mistakes me for Enclave? Forget that. Plus, traveling around with a floating robot is a bit too conspicuous for my tastes right now. Besides…" He looked southward down the old road out of town. "I left him here to help protect this town where he won't draw too much attention to himself. Good thing too. They need him more than I do, it seems."

"I hate to admit it, but you were right about that," the older woman said, finally speaking. Her voice had a western flavor and it sounded as if she had been smoking for a while. "Last time they attacked, this little robot disintegrated three of 'em, though not before they killed three of our own. Vicious bastards." She looked over to Veronica and offered her hand. "Name's Trudy. I'm the mayor of this little town and the bartender of the Prospector Saloon."

Veronica firmly shook the woman's hand. "Veronica. I'm a friend of his," she replied, motioning her eyes towards the Courier.

"Well good. Hope you aren't just a tourist, 'cause we're gonna need all the guns we can get when those gangers come back."

 _Crap._ She still couldn't shoot up to Zack's standards. Maybe she'd finally get to show him how practical her combat skills were, but would that even be safe? "What exactly is going on?"

"Powder Gangers came into town yesterday morning. 'Bout a six or seven of 'em. We killed those bastards, but not without some loss on our own side. If they come back, they'll probably come in a bigger wave. There's not many of 'em left, but whatever they want, they won't stop until they get it or they're dead."

That was concerning. It had only been one day since joining up with Zack and already they were planning to fight a whole group of lawless criminals. For a well-trained squad of Brotherhood Knights, a group of Powder Gangers would be easy to exterminate with the right tactics, but could they do it with some ragtag group?

"So what's the plan?" Veronica asked.

"We're gonna try and talk to them," the Courier answered bleakly. "Without the NCR around to help clean up their mess, it would be better if we didn't have to fight them, but I doubt it's gonna work. For now, we're going to round up anybody we can to help drive these bastards back. If it does come to that, we'll have to go to the prison itself and clean up the rest of them. Until you cut off the head, the snake will keep coming, you know?"

"Wait, you want to go into their own camp after this?" She didn't know why that line surprised her so much. Then again, given her traveling companion's fear of the Legion, she figured that he'd fear a group of ex-convicts as well. However, he did not look shaken at all. "Isn't that a little too crazy?"

He laughed. "Veronica, if you decide to stick around after today, you'll see how that would be the sanest thing I'll do in any given week."

* * *

The waiting game: he hated it.

He was ready to fight those ex-cons, but they hadn't shown up. In truth, there was no guarantee that they would show up that day, but he would rather they did, instead of storming the old NCRCF. At least the townsfolk of Goodsprings had the familiarity of the town's layout on their side. Then again, most of them weren't fighters. Sure, Trudy and Sunny were good shots, and Easy Pete, the old prospector, lent them some dynamite, but none of the other townsfolk that showed up to defend the town were noteworthy in their marksmanship. He had his guns and V.A.T.S., but that couldn't defend him, let alone a whole town from a whole squad of Powder Gangers.

Then there was Veronica. She had a brand new laser pistol that she bought from Chet, the town clerk. She also purchased some cells for ammo, but she couldn't afford many. If what she said was true about her preference for energy weapons, perhaps her aim would improve. If not, what did she have? The other gun that she couldn't aim? She did have that power fist, but he hoped she wouldn't need to use it. Running into gunfire seemed like a foolhardy act. Then again, the Legion did it all the time, so who was he to judge?

"That's all I can spare," Doc Mitchell said as he handed a few stimpaks to the Courier. "Wish I could be more helpful, but this is all I got. Business has been slow." His voice was slow and tired, but very comforting. The Courier felt his nerves soothe a little at the sound.

"Thanks Doc," he answered with gratitude, placing them with his other medical supplies. "One of these days, when I have enough caps, I'll be sure to pay you back for everything, you know?"

"No, just be careful not to get shot in the head again. I don't know if I could perform that surgery that delicate with minimal tools twice in a lifetime."

"Don't sell yourself short, Doc." He admired the older man's humility, but also appreciated his work. This man had saved his life and wanted so little in return. "When I get to Vegas and win at blackjack, I'll make sure you get a slice. More than enough to cover expenses." _But even that wouldn't be enough._

"Well, good luck to you kids. Hopefully none of y'all get tore up like those last souls were. Hate to plan for another funeral." When the doctor left, the Courier felt Veronica tap his shoulder to get his attention, much to his dismay.

"Did he ever say _how_ he did it?" Veronica questioned as she tilted her head to look at his scars. "The entry wound looks to be almost nonexistent and even the best doctors in our bunker would probably fail to fix a bullet to the brain."

The Courier shrugged. "He never did and I don't care how he did it, I'm just glad he did."

"Well, if the Powder Gangers do start shooting, I'll just use you as a shield. Either you're indestructible or he's Dr. Frankenstein." She chuckled at her comparison, but her smile paled when she saw that the Courier was no longer smiling. "Did I say something?... You know that I'm not _really_ going to use you as a shield, right?"

"Veronica," he whispered, doing a slow double take to make sure that nobody was within earshot, "you really need to be more careful about what you say. This town is relatively neutral, but the last thing we want is for people to learn that you're Brotherhood."

"I'm sorry, what?" She looked legitimately confused. "Zack, I don't under-"

"Your concern over ED-E being Enclave tech. You looked very, very upset by him, and Sunny and Trudy saw it."

"Okay, now I know there has to be some sort of stick-like thing up your ass," she said, smiling again, but out of disbelief for his paranoia. "A lot of people don't like the Enclave besides the Brotherhood of Steel. NCR was willing to work with us to fight them, you know. And the Legion is so anti-technology, I imagine that they don't like them either."

"You're right, they don't, but you're obviously not Legion. You know how they treat their women and you-"

"Okay, NCR then," she argued, but the Courier shook his head.

"You're not NCR. You obviously couldn't pass as a soldier with your lack of shooting abilities and-"

"Gee, thanks," she interrupted with a roll of her eyes.

"-and," he continued, "You're not a citizen of the NCR either. Not in that getup at least. And the power fist doesn't help your case. NCR is big on their guns and grenades, but unarmed combat isn't exactly their style."

"Okay, okay, I'll keep my mouth shut," she finally agreed, "but what about this town? What if the Brotherhood sees your robot here? Isn't that dangerous?"

"Maybe," he admitted. That actually never came to mind, simply because the Brotherhood was so "out of sight, out of mind" for him. "But they need ED-E. They needed him to guard against the Powder Gangers, you know. Besides, is the Brotherhood about to come in and raise hell over a little eyebot?"

"Oh Zack, you have no idea," she sighed, shaking her head. "Our codex… Forget it, you don't want to hear about that. Let's just drop the subject."

"Fine," he agreed. He felt a bit agitated arguing with her, though she seemed to have handled it a lot better than he did. _Ugh, I'm losing my social skills. I miss the good ol' days before getting shot in the head. Things were so much more fun back then._

"So…" Veronica began again, a mischievous little grin emerging on her face, "Sunny's really cute."

 _Oh_ _Christ._ "New subject," he ordered, but Veronica playfully continued.

"I'm just a little curious. You seem to have a huge aversion to being touched, but you hug her without a second thought. What's that all about?"

"Okay, first of all, I don't have an aversion to being touched," he began to clarify. "I just like my space most of the time. When we get to New Vegas, I will be doing _a lot_ of touching. Trust me." Veronica just rolled her eyes at that.

"Gross," she laughed lightly. "You do know that not _everything_ stays in Vegas, right?"

"I'll keep that in mind," he said as his face returned to its neutral expression. "Anyway, Sunny and I…" He looked up at the roof of Trudy's bar. Though he couldn't see her, he knew that Sunny was camped out up there, ready to sharpshoot with her varmint rifle. "We're pretty close. She's a nice girl. She cares about this town and she was willing to defend it without a second thought."

"And that was it?" Veronica prodded, smiling. "I know you're hiding something."

"Why do you care so much?" While Veronica was better company than the last guy he traveled with, her questioning just wouldn't end.

"Well, sorry that I want to learn more about the mysterious courier who I decided to travel with, trust, and now engage in life-threatening combat alongside," she pointed out, grinning devilishly. Though the Courier didn't say so, he couldn't help but notice how cute the scribe's smile was.

"Well, if you must know…" He paused, trying to think if the best way to explain things to her. "You see, Veronica, when one survives being shot twice in the head and buried alive, only to put his life on the wire the day he recovers against a mob of criminals, one begins to _really_ appreciate how lucky he is to be alive, so-"

"So you banged her?" Veronica interrupted mischievously.

"Voice down, please!" he hushed her, looking up at the roof. "She's right up there, you know… we were both celebrating, we got drunk, one thing led to another and-"

"And you banged her." She repeated as a statement.

He let out a long, deep groan. "Urgh, yes, I _banged_ her. Are you happy now?"

"Quite," she answered victoriously. She looked incredibly proud of herself. "But I gotta know, I saw you two talking and you both have a lot of chemistry. Is there a reason why you and her… I don't know…"

"Date?" he guessed. "No thanks. I mean, she's a nice chick, but I can't exactly stick around. You see-"

"Powder Gangers! About a dozen or so in sight!" Sunny called out to everybody who was camped out and waiting. Sure enough, the Courier saw a large group of men coming towards the center of town. A few of them were shirtless, but a majority of them were wearing the blue NCRCF uniforms with dark jeans. They all looked relatively physically built, but that was of little concern, as they were carrying a wide collection of guns, ranging from pistols to single shotguns.

 _They came prepared this time,_ he thought to himself. The last time he fought Powder Gangers, only a few of them had guns. Most came with old machetes and lead pipes, but not that day. But even more worrisome was the man in the center of the gang. He was a brown-haired man of average height, but he was still intimidating with body armor on the outside of his uniform and the hunting shotgun he carried. He must have taken it off a caravaner that the group robbed, as it looked way too nice to belong to him.

 _What the hell? Eddie?_ The leader of the Powder Gangers rarely ever left the prison, so why was he there? Was that final batallion all that was left of the NCRF?

"Where's Trudy?" he yelled out in a deep, commanding voice. "I'm here to negotiate our terms."

In response, Trudy stepped out from behind her cover to face the gang, her own shotgun in hand. "We got nothing to say to y'all after your boys killed three of our men. So why don't you go on back to that little prison of yours and leave us be? I don't like raiders in our town, especially none as cowardly as you."

Eddie just scowled. "Wrong words, bitch. You think we're afraid of you? Who is gonna come to your rescue this time?"

"I am." The Courier stepped out from behind his cover, eliciting a gasp from a few of the gangers. Eddie just raised an eyebrow.

"You! I thought you would be gone by now."

"I was passing through and I heard you assholes were back, so I decided to stick around a little longer." He was trying so hard to sound cool in front of the town, but he sounded like he was tired and bored.

"Well, why don't you just head on out of here," Eddie offered, though not out of any place of kindness. "You've done some good work for us in the past and it'd be a shame to have to kill you."

He mentally turned the offer down the moment he heard it. "I only did those things to pacify you assholes. So what happened, Ed? You and I negotiated a truce. Why are you trying to take this town again?"

"Simple: it's time for us to expand before the shit hits the fan." He didn't wait to explain himself. "You know who we ran into the other day? One of those skirt-wearing, Legion pussies from across the river, that's who. Apparently, 'the Great Caesar' offered us a chance to join his army." He scoffed, spitting into the dirt. "We had to go through hell to get our freedom. Do you think we'd want to join up with some slave army and lose all that? Hell no!"

"Earn your freedom?" the Courier asked. "You're all a bunch of criminals who-"

"And now we gotta expand," Eddied continued, undeterred. "You see, we killed that Legion bastard. Next thing we know, every one of our scouts gets killed or dragged off to God knows where. There's only a few of us left now and the next battle of Hoover Dam is coming. It don't matter now whether the NCR or Legion win the dam, because regardless, they're gonna run through us unless we got power on our sides. Real power. So we're opening up membership and taking what we can before they go to war again. With any luck, we'll be able to hold our own against whatever comes our way."

He just gawked at them. "That… that might be the stupidest thing I've heard all week."

"You want to say that to my face?" Eddie shouted, enraged, but the Courier didn't care.

"It doesn't matter if you take this town or not. Your numbers are too small to deal with the Legion or NCR. Hell, if you really wanted to survive, you would have joined the Legion." As much as he didn't want to promote the Legion, it seemed like it would have been their best option.

"That may be surviving, but it sure as hell ain't living," Eddie scoffed. "Besides, what are we gonna do? We can't go anywhere else. We'd probably fall apart out there and that vault ain't gonna hold us all. I'd rather go down fighting than starving or becoming Caesar's bitch."

"Well, this isn't the answer!" Trudy shouted out, her tone aggressive. "Either you leave or we end this now! Cob couldn't take this town and neither can you!"

There was a brief silence as Eddie contemplated his decision one last time. He ended this thought with a snicker. "Fine by me. We would have let you lived under us, but now…" He pumped his shotgun. "Lock and load, boys. Whoever kills the bitch gets a promotion!" But before one of his men could make the shot, he was knocked on his back following a gunshot. Sunny took him out with one shot to the heart.

"Kill them!" Eddie roared, aiming his gun right at the courier.

 _Fuck._ He dove behind one of the large, wooden crates that sat outside the saloon, pushing Veronica with him, just barely dodging the shotgun blast.

"Well, that escalated quickly," Veronica laughed nervously.

"Not now. Get your gun and be ready to shoot. They could be coming around either side of this box." Sure enough, as he edged around the corner, he began unloading his clip into one of the Gangers that came at him with a shotgun.

 _Two down,_ he thought to himself.

The others had taken defensive positions behind some of the debris and boxes that lay scattered about. One of them emerged from his cover to shoot at Trudy, but he was lasered by ED-E.

 _Three down._

However, the robot was suddenly bombarded by the group. Most of their bullets bounced off of his frame, but a surprise blow from an oversized sledgehammer brought the robot down. Even though he had self-contained nanobot repair, such technology was slow going, and he probably wouldn't recover in time to help in the battle any further. For the next minute, there was shooting from both sides, but everybody was playing a defensive game to avoid getting shot.

"Reloading!" The Courier ducked back and started reloading his submachine gun. "How you holding up, V?"

"I can't hit a damn- Did you just call me V? Is that my new nickname?" She suddenly ended up getting cheery again, despite the fact that they were in a damn firefight for their lives.

"Now's not a good time." He turned the corner again and opened fire on the box where the Gangers were crouching. He would have went into V.A.T.S., but he wanted to wait until he had multiple targets. _Wait, new plan!_

"If that's my nickname, does that mean I'm part of the club?"

"The club?" Returning his pistol, he pulled out three sticks of Easy Pete's dynamite. "What club?"

"The club of people that you like. The Goodsprings Club!" She put her submachine gun back and started trying to hit her targets with her laser pistol.

"Yeah, sure, whatever! God, you're a bit too happy considering what's going on right now." _Rubber bands, rubber bands. Where are the- here we are!_ He had a few thick, extra-strength rubber bands that he used to strap the three sticks together with. Following that, he tied the wicks together and lit them with Checkers's lighter. "Hold your fire and get ready to shoot in five!" He swung around corner and hurled the dynamite at the place where the majority of Gangers were crouched behind.

"Dynamite!" One of them shouted right before the explosives burst. The dynamite had landed in front of their blockade, which blew the box to pieces and knocked a few of the guys back.

"Nice, but I don't think you hit any of them!" Veronica commented over the shouting.

"Didn't need to. They're sitting ducks." _Time to V.A.T.S._ As time seemed to slow, he aimed his gun at the closest Ganger and pulled the trigger. He dropped like a fly. _Four._ Sunny hit another nearby. _Five._ Trudy and one of the townies brought down two with a spray of bullets. _Six, seven._ There were only five left, but they weren't even in sight. "They're scattered!" he called out. "Be ready to-"

"Raaaah!" A Ganger had made it to his line, but in one swift movement, the Courier dropped his gun, drew his machete, and cut through the man's chest.

"Eight!" he shouted, helping everybody else keep a tally of the score. But things were quiet. Too quiet, too sudden. "Where are they?"

Veronica moved close to him, doing a double take. "Maybe they took off in the confusion? They were getting slaughtered like brahmin."

"Huh, maybe." He looked up at the roof. "Sunny, you have eyes on the target? Are they running scared?"

"I don't see them. Sorry, I was too focused on trying- URGH! Arm!" Her rifle fell off the roof. "East!"

"We got one shooting from the north!" Trudy announced. "He's killed one!"

"Keep him back! Veronica, I need you to- What the…" Veronica was gone. _Where did she go off to?_ "No time." Instead of worrying, he scanned the east until he saw his target: a Powder Ganger that had escaped the fray and was flat on the ground with a hunting rifle. He was aiming at the roof, trying to pick off Sunny, but his aim wasn't quite strong enough to finish her in one shot, as he only hit her arm.

 _No V.A.T.S.. Gotta do this manually._ He steadily raised his 9 MM, aimed with the reflex scope, and let the bullet fly.

"Nine! We got- GAH, SON OF A BITCH!" Somebody shot him in the back. He had enough armor on to keep the bullet from entering his body, but it still hurt like hell. He turned to smack the incoming Ganger in the head, luckily forcing him to drop his pistol. He underestimated the man's speed, however, and in a flash, the attacker whipped out a knife and stabbed it into the Courier's side, right where his concealed armor didn't protect him. He let out a hissed curse as he punched the man in the face, but it didn't seem to injure him at all.

"You ain't so tough, Couri-OORF!" He was knocked back off his feet and into the dirt, coughing up blood as he tried to stand back up. Standing next to the Courier was Veronica, power fist in hand.

"Zack, you hit like a girl," Veronica laughed, recharging her gauntlet for another blow.

"Maybe if I had one of those high tech glove things…" He had dropped his gun again after being shanked, but he drew his .44 magnum revolver, one of his other guns. "Where were you?"

"I tried to sneak off so I could pick off the runners. But then you got hurt, so I figured you needed- watch out!" The gunless Ganger came at them with his knife again, but both Veronica and the Courier stepped out of the way in time. "I'll handle this," she said. Veronica stepped forward and in one simple motion of her left hand, she knocked the knife out of his hand. The man tried to slug her instead, but she expertly blocked it with her left hand before ramming her right, metallic-garbed fist into his chest. The impact of the steel hand, followed by the blow of the hydraulic jack made an imprint is his upper chest. The blood was sputtering out of his mouth as he flailed his arms about before falling still.

"Ten!" she announced, though she was no longer smiling as wide. At least she wasn't the kind of person who took joy in that sort of thing, though she displayed pride in what she could do and had just done. She also wore a look of concern. "You okay? That knife-"

"Nah, I'm fine. I've been stabbed before." He already had a stimpak out and he injected into the general area of the wound. It would probably heal up on its own with the aid, but he'd still want to check it out later, as he did with all injuries.

"Okay, just be care- excuse me." Before he could even pull the syringe from his skin, Veronica was already in a mad dash towards the Powder Ganger that had pinned Trudy against her cover with a bullet in her abdomen. He turned to see her running towards him and it must have been the last thing he expected as he was not prepared to deal with the pneumatic uppercut that she struck him with, essentially crashing his lower and upper jaws together with a sickening crunch. "Eleven!"

 _Well, I'll be damned._ Sure, the glove wouldn't be great in all situations, but it was working great for the time being. "Good work! Where's the last-"

BANG!

A pistol shot rang as the bullet hit Veronica in her upper left shoulder, knocking her to her knees in pain.

"No! Veronica!" _Hope her armor absorbed that._ He turned to where the shot rang from, only to be punched in the face (definitely breaking his nose) and slugged in the stomach. He fell to his knees, only to be kicked in the chest onto his back. Eddie looked down at him, a malicious scowl dominating his face.

"You… this was our last chance, and now, you ruined it. But I'm going to enjoy this." He raised his pistol, but before pulling the trigger, he withdrew it, shaking his head. "No… not good enough." He placed it back in its holster and drew his shotgun instead.

 _This is how it ends…_ Not the way he wanted to go out at all. But he felt his pistol near his hand. _If I can just grasp it right…_

"I'm going splatter your brains all over the dir-" He was cut short by a gruesome sound that seemed to be the combine the noises of a shatter and a squish. Despite being shot, Veronica still had enough in her to run forward and smash her power fist into Eddie's face, mutilating it to a point beyond recognition.

"Twelve." Her voice was pained. She clutched her left shoulder gingerly, but there was no blood. That scribe armor must have done the trick.

"Thanks," he gasped, forcing himself to sit up. He had the pistol in his hand now, but the grip loosened. "You okay?"

"Am I okay? I should be asking you! Your nose looks like it exploded."

"Oh yeah," he muttered as if he forgot. "You know how put a broken nose back in place?"

"I've done it before, yeah," she said, kneeling next to him. "You ready?"

"Sure," he said, ready for the pain. She brought her hands to his nose and in one sudden jerk, she shifted it back into place. "GOD DAMN, THAT'S GOOD!" he shouted, baring his teeth. He followed that by wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve. Surprisingly, he wasn't bleeding as much as he thought he would be. Maybe after the first ten nose breaks, the eleventh came with a discount.

"I don't know if I could have shot him fast enough. And getting stabbed like that… Jesus, I'm getting soft. I should have seen that shit coming." He figured that after bringing down an entire factory of feral ghouls and crazed nightkin, a few raiders wouldn't have been an issue.

"Don't blame yourself. It was intense. I think everybody got hurt. And you killed, what, four?" She offered her hand to help him up, but he pushed it away.

"I can handle this." One deep breath later and he forced himself to stand up.

"Of course you can," Veronica teased. "Gotta keep that pride that you shouldn't have lost to begin with after strategically coordinating a firefight like that."

"Har har…" He looked over at Trudy, who was being tended to by Doc Mitchell. Sunny had climbed down from the roof and had rushed over to the doctor as well. The few other townies that were in the fight seemed to be alright, save the one who took a bullet to the heart. All in all, the group handled the firefight well.

"You want a beer when this is all cleared up? I'll buy." He didn't have any caps, but he was under the assumption that Trudy would pay him something for running out to Goodsprings to help out with the Gangers.

"Ha, what, is that the enigmatic Zack's way of thanking me?" she laughed, trying to humor him after such a battle.

"No, this is." What he did next surprised the both of them: he hugged her, taking care not to touch her bruised shoulder. At first, she didn't embrace him back, but when she did, it felt good; so warm. When he pulled away from her, he saw her mouth hanging agape and her eyes wide.

"That… that was unexpected." Her pale face was tinted pink with a blush.

"You saved my ass," he told her, cheeks blushing as well. "I usually handle this stuff on my own but… thanks."

"You're welcome, Zack."

Something stirred in him. When he had hugged her, she looked so shocked, as if she had just hit triple 7s at Vegas. That cute, little look of bewilderment and joy mixed into one awkward package. He just had to see it again.

"It's Miles, by the way."

There it was again; that look on her face. "What?"

"My name. It's Miles. Miles Wright." _Oh, I hope I don't regret this._

She just stared for a moment, mouth hanging even lower than it was earlier. "Your- your name?"

"Yes." His anxiety was running high, but he was enjoying the moment too much to care. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Well, yeah, I just…" She gave him another long, hard look before saying, "you're not lying. But why are you telling me this now?"

He shrugged and held up his hands. "Honestly… I don't know. I guess you deserve it. I mean, you saved my life and if you continue following me, I guess you deserve to know."

"Wow, I feel so accomplished today, she giggled. "I learned you were the Courier, learned your name, saved your life… do I get to be in the Goodsprings club now?"

"Veronica, there is no…" _Oh, what the hell?_ "Sure, you're in the club." After giving her a quick pat on her good shoulder, he went to check up with the other townspeople and eventually, he began picking through the bodies of the dead Powder Gangers. It was gruesome work, but the raiders wouldn't be using their weapons, armor, caps, and drugs where they were going. Most of the stuff he scavenged would be sold to Chet, but he wished her could keeo Eddie's shotgun for himself. It just felt too _right_ to give away, but at the end of the day, he traveled light.

* * *

Stroke by stroke, Miles gently ran the disposable razor over his cheek. It had been a week or so since he had a good shave, so he decided to treat himself with some of his reward money. After taking a cool shower, he stood in front of a half-broken mirror in the empty house's old bedroom, slowly cutting back the whiskers on his chin. The house belonged to one of the men that died the day before, so Trudy allowed the two travelers to crash there for the night. It was pretty empty, ever since the townsfolk cleared it out of all the valuables, but it still had two small bedrooms and running water, so he wasn't complaining.

"Gah, son of a bitch," he grunted. He nicked himself for the second time that night. If only the general store had shaving cream or shaving powder, but those days, such products were luxuries.

After the shootout, Doc Mitchel patched everybody up and everybody went to the bar to celebrate. As promised, the Miles bought Veronica a drink and the two chatted over a game of pool. That in itself was nice, tearing down the wall between them, actually feeling loose and at ease around her, and he didn't need the alcohol for that either. He still wasn't exactly sure why he decided to expose himself like that though. Maybe it was because she saved him and he got caught up in the moment. Maybe it was because he shattered the barrier that he had set up between them when he hugged her and told her his real name. Maybe it was because she was too damn cheerful and adorable for him to be a hard-ass around all the time. Sure, he still had his paranoia about her, but he definitely felt more comfortable, even with her prodding into his personal affairs.

"Done." He splashed some cold water from the bowl on the old dresser onto his face and dried it off with an old shirt. Once that was done with that, he looked up into the mirror and cringed. Even with a freshly shaven face, he didn't like what he saw. His hair had grown in very unevenly but he hadn't had the time or the opportunity to get it cut. The scars on his temple where he had been shot, while not prominent, looked ugly to him nonetheless. And his gray eyes had enormous black bags hanging under them from lack of sufficient sleep.

 _Shit, I look like a raider._ He had washed most of his clothes, but now that they were drying, all he had left were his jeans and a white tank top. _Yup, definitely raider chic._

The sound of running water that he had tuned out had stopped a few minutes before, so Miles assumed that Veronica must have been done with her shower. Tired as he was, the Courier decided that he ought to say goodnight to her before he went to sleep. Without thinking or waiting, he walked over towards the bathroom to let her know that he was about to pass out, but he stopped himself from saying anything when he looked into the room where she was. The bathroom door had been ripped away from the frame some time ago, taking away any privacy that may have been. Therefore, he saw something that he shouldn't have.

Veronica was facing away from him, wearing only a pair of worn out shorts. Though he couldn't see anything too scandalous from his perspective, he did have a full view of her naked back. It was as pale as her hands and face, but what was even stranger than her skin color was her build. Veronica was thin, but unlike most people in the desert wastes, she was much more fit and well fed, probably due to her living with the Brotherhood. He really liked that look, since few women out in the desert were that in shape. Even more intriguing though was her hair. Her haircut itself was nothing special; it was cropped short, barely passing her ears, but he imagined that it would look elegant from the front. But what really was interesting was that he could actually see her hair. Ever since they began traveling together, he never saw her remove her hood once, not even to sleep. He wanted to ask her why, but the way he saw it, it wasn't his business.

 _I really should look away._ But he couldn't. It wasn't until she hooked the back of her bra that she sensed that she wasn't alone.

"Miles?" She turned her head, catching him suddenly shielding his eyes.

"Oh, uh, sorry, sorry. I'm going to bed. Have a good night." Still covering his eyes, he briskly walked back to his bedroom before she could say anything. _Great, now she's going to think that I'm a pervert._ That wasn't a good way to end an otherwise successful day, but he decided to let it go for now. Hopefully, she wouldn't hold it against him, but if not, maybe he'd be traveling alone again.

 _I hope not. Not with that information I shared._ Still, traveling alone had always worked well for him in the past, but somehow, he'd feel be upset if that were the case. Trying not to think about it, he fell backward into the old bed and began to drift off to sleep. For once, he didn't need Med-X to help him along the way.


	5. Chapter 5: A Grave Memory

**Chapter 5: A Grave Memory**

" _Four-ball, corner pocket." His shot was a bit sloppy, but he got the ball in. As soon as it sunk, he already freed one of his hands to take a sip of the beer he ordered at the bar. The night was a good, plain and simple. After surviving the Powder Ganger onslaught, everybody got patched up by the doctor, the gangers were stripped of their valuables and their bodies were burned, and the Goodsprings citizen who had died was buried with a brief, mournful sermon. Afterward, everybody went back to the bar to celebrate their bittersweet victory. On top of that, the Courier received his pay: 200 caps. The road would drain that pay away fast, but not before he could restock his supplies and buy dinner and drinks. He decided to school Veronica in a game of pool on the old billiards table in the saloon, though the game wasn't exactly fair, considering she had never played before._

" _Wow, you're pretty good at this," Veronica commented, impressed._

" _Thanks. You're not bad yourself. Some practice and maybe you can hustle pool with the best of them."_ _He didn't think he was all that good at pool. He was better at the game than he was at Caravan, but he lacked the raw luck that he seemed to have with blackjack, poker, and the like. Still, he had earned a few dinners with billiards, though he had lost a few over the game as well. "Seven-ball, side pocket." He took his shot and missed._

" _Doubtful. I imagine that you had to spend a lot of nights in musty, old bars, surrounded by tough guys in leather jackets to get this good." She lined up her shot, called it, and missed. "I can just picture it."_

" _Well, you're halfway there." He sunk another ball. "I've done stuff like this all my life. Made a lot of money and earned a lot of meals by gambling. I've also been left in the cold over it too. There have been times I've bet money that I didn't have and lost… lucky I'm still around, too be honest." He missed his next shot. "Thankfully, I developed a sixth sense about this sort of thing. It's a feeling in my gut, you know? I know when the risk is worth taking. It really pays off."  
_

" _Well, a lot of people get killed in the wastes, so if you're still alive, I guess you're doing something right," Veronica said, lifting his spirits slightly. "Just try not to get us in trouble up at New Vegas, alright? I'd rather not have to punch out an entire casino security team."_

" _Duly noted. And neither do I." He actually appreciated his optimism. He watched her make her next shot. She missed her mark entirely. "That's what I'd have to resort to in the past. But casinos typically don't let weapons in, so you wouldn't be able to use that fancy gauntlet. If you're really clever, you can sneak in a knife, brass knuckles… maybe even a pistol if you're a shadow. But ain't no way I'd be able to get in my machine pistols. Not that I want to hold up a casino, but-"_

" _You'd be so screwed, Miles," Veronica laughed. "I bet I could take down some security guards with just my fists, but I've seen you fight without your guns or machete. You got one good move, but you would be beaten to a pulp, even if all their guns jammed at once."_

" _Fair point." He shrugged it off as he called his shot and sunk the ball. "Maybe then you should teach me that 'steel form' you were talking about?"_

" _I don't know… We're not supposed to teach outsiders that sort of thing." She scowled and looked to the side. "We're not supposed to do much of anything with them, so says the codex."_

" _Well, you're already tagging along, so you might as well take the next step." He couldn't believe he needed to argue that sort of thing with her. He liked Veronica, but she was still Brotherhood and the Brotherhood were all a bunch of black and white code zombies from his experience. "Look, how about this? You teach me how to brawl with the best of them and not only will I teach you how to shoot straight, but I'll teach you the tricks of my trade."_

" _Your trade?" She raised an eyebrow. "What, how to deliver packages?"_

" _Hey, there's an art for that, you know," he laughed, though he believed every word he said. "But I mean the other stuff I can do. Pool, cards… when we hit the casinos, I wanna make sure we hit them hard and fast. Sound like fun?"_

 _Veronica shrugged. "Well, if it's a part of the package deal, I'm in. Just don't tell my people what I'm doing."_

" _Wouldn't dream of it, V," he replied, grinning. Hopefully, that wouldn't be a problem anyway. He called his last shot and sunk the eight ball. This game wasn't for money, but he felt good that he still had a few good shots left._

 _The door of the saloon opened and somebody entered the bar. "I'm looking for a courier!" the man called out in a rough voice. "Anybody here going north?"_

 _The Courier suddenly perked up and his smile widened. "Hear that? That's the sound of money." He laid his stick against the pool table and walked to the source of the voice, meeting a familiar face. "Sergeant Kilborn. Good to see you again."_

" _Mr. Gilmore," he nodded curtly. He had remembered him. The man was about Miles's height, had dark skin, and a rough looking beard on his square jaw. "It's been a few weeks, correct?"_

" _Yes. Two or three now." It felt as though it had been a lot longer. "Things have been… alright."_

" _Huh… you're taking it all better than I have." His eyes fell. "Ever since you came to us with the news about Nipton, I've felt as if a dark cloud has rolled over the Mojave…"_

" _I know." He remembered how visibly shaken Kilborn was at the news, the spreading of Caesar's influence. He had expressed that holding the dam was hopeless after hearing the news, yet he was still doing his duty. Miles respected that, but he wondered how he worked with such hopelessness without the help of some strong liquor or drugs. But back to business. "You said you needed a courier? I'm heading to New Vegas, so if it's on the way-"_

" _Yes, we need this delivered to Colonel James Hsu at Camp McCarran within the next few days." He showed Miles a large envelope. "It's encrypted information, so if it were lost or stolen, it probably wouldn't aid our enemies. That being said, it would be in the NCR's best interest that it arrives as soon as possible, but we don't want to increase the risk of decryption by airing this over the airwaves. Not with the Brotherhood buried in the desert somewhere." At the word "Brotherhood", Veronica had joined Miles's side with interest, but she said nothing. She knew better than to give herself away._

" _I see… very mysterious," the Courier chuckled, though this did not alleviate Kilborn's mood as all. "Why can't the NCR do this themselves?"_

" _Why do you think?" Kilborn asked, his voice unfaltering. "You know we don't have the manpower. The higher-ups have been massing soldiers around the Dam and our numbers have been thinning. We can't even spare one soldier to head north, especially through Fiend territory."_

 _Of course… The NCR wanted it all: the Dam, New Vegas, and the Mojave. But they couldn't hold it, even with the key locations and resources that Mr. House had given them. "And you need a courier to risk it for you, right?"_

" _You've done well for yourself thus far. I'm sure you'll do fine."_

" _You're so sure I'll do this, huh?"_

" _Of course. For a non-citizen, you've been helpful to the NCR at the outpost thus far."_

" _Well, true." He had helped them, but it wasn't for the love of the NCR. He preferred them to the Legion, but there was another reason why he'd do this job. "You know I don't make much money. What's the pay?"_

" _100 caps now. Hsu will pay you for delivery, but I couldn't tell you how much."_

" _100 caps is nice, but that don't last long on the road, especially when I have a new traveling companion." He looked over at Veronica and nodded. "They couldn't spare me anymore?"_

 _Kilborn frowned. "You know I don't have the authority to barter with you over this. Either you do it or you don't. But I believe you can. So?"_

 _Miles shrugged. "Fine. But if I get killed by Fiends, I blame the NCR for not giving me more caps for more bullets." He shook the Colonel's hand and gently took the envelope and a wrapped pack of caps._

" _Very well, but we'll be recording that you agreed to this. If we find you using those caps in Vegas without delivering the code-"_

" _You can trust me. I take my job seriously. Stay safe getting back to the outpost and say 'hi' to Cass for me, assuming she's still there."_

" _She'll be there until she drinks us dry," Kilborn said, finally chuckling faintly. "Stay safe yourself. And you too, ma'am." He nodded at Veronica and headed out the door._

 _He looked at the packet he had received, wondering what it was all about. He wasn't curious enough to open it, however. There was no way he would be able to decipher any of the code, but he still wondered what it was about and how it affected the NCR in the Mojave._

" _So, friend of yours?" Veronica asked. She touched the folder, but Miles instinctively moved it away from her hand. He wasn't keen on people touching his deliveries, especially when such a gesture had led him to his death once already._

" _I wouldn't go that far, but he's not a blind patriot of the NCR cause, so I guess he's alright… hope so at least." He turned his entire body to Veronica. "You feel like taking a detour through Fiend territory? It'll be a story to tell."_

 _Veronica just grinned. "Before today, I would have thought you crazy, but now, I_ _ **know**_ _that you're crazy. But count me in."_

 _Miles laughed. He knew bringing this girl along was a good idea. Most people would have walked away at such a request, but she was fearless. Silently, he applauded his choice in follower._

* * *

It was the touch of sunlight through the window that woke Veronica up. She felt refreshed from the shower and sleep, which was greatly appreciated, given that she hadn't slept in a real bed in days, but her shoulder still hurt like a bitch. She had never been shot before and it made her wonder how Miles dealt with being shot in the head twice. Even when he was stabbed the other day, he seemed to shrug it off like it was no big deal. Maybe it was an occupational hazard of being a courier? Or maybe it was due to his "hero complex" as he put it?

It didn't matter. Shoulder ache or not, she needed to keep up with her exercises that she skipped the day before. The Brotherhood of Steel valued physical fitness, scribes included, and since her job involved her being on the road, being in shape was essential. She dropped to the ground and began doing pushups. Eventually, she'd switch to doing one handed on both sides, but she had to get warmed up first. However, whatever she did wouldn't be sufficient to keep in the shape she had built. The Brotherhood bunker had a complete fitness room, track, and a small pool in its lower levels, which when combined with a proper diet, led to members of the Brotherhood to be in optimal physical condition. However, for the members that were allowed outside during the lockdown, such as the procurement specialists like herself and the patrol teams, falling out of optimal shape (wasting, they referred to it as) was a big deal. Getting enough food and doing basic exercises would help keep her in well-enough shape, but it wouldn't completely stop the wasting from happening.

 _Right arm._ She tucked her left arm behind her back and started again. She hated working out without exercise machines. She wondered how the other soldiers did it. From what she had seen, most NCR soldiers were well fed and in shape, but their fitness varied. From what she had heard from the patrols, soldiers in the Legion were absolutely jacked. It made sense, given how physical fitness was a huge part of their code as well, but did they have access to similar resources? Maybe Miles would know.

She switched to her left arm, wincing as she felt a shooting pain rush through her entire body. _Miles…_ She'd have to get used to that. She had told him that he didn't look like a Zack, but he looked even less like a Miles. Then again, she never knew anybody named Miles, so maybe that had something to do with it.

 _I wonder what he does to keep in shape?_

"Ouch…" She had to stop early, as the pain became too great. Those stimpaks had done most of the job of healing her, but she'd still need time. It was then when she heard something coming from the main room. _Music_. There was absolutely nothing in the house, so she assumed that the music came from Miles's pip-boy. It had a radio, but he was against playing it on the road.

" _Sound carries. You want every raider and deathclaw to come follow us?"_

Considering how much they talked on the road the other day, his logic was flawed, but she never brought it up with him. Perhaps he was less worried about the noise they made when they talked.

The continued thoughts of Miles brought her to remember that little "incident" that happened the night before. Incident might have been a bit too strong of a word, however. He had seen her changing, but she had already decided to let it go. Compared to all of the perverted guys she passed in the wastes who hit on her relentlessly, he seemed to have a bit more respect and didn't seem to be interested in that way. Which was good, since she wasn't interested in him in that way either for a few key reasons.

 _Hopefully, he's only a mild pervert at best._

She decided to go for a jog, assuming Goodsprings was safe enough to allow that. After putting on her scribe robes, she left for the main room where she saw the mysterious courier spending his morning in a way that was not too different from hers. Rather than doing pushups, he was making use of a low hanging pipe in the center of the room that was probably added by Goodsprings after the house's original water pipes broke a century or two ago. It was a sturdy old pipe though, which was why Miles, wearing an old pair of jeans and a white tank top, was using it to do chin-ups to the tune on his pip-boy. _Fly Me to the Moon_ was playing. It was a very upbeat tune. A bit too upbeat to suit him, she figured, but then again, she had no idea what type of music he liked. Even if he had a preference, Radio New Vegas typically stuck to early and mid-twentieth century songs, so he didn't have much of a choice.

It was the first time she saw him without his long-sleeved duster and it was surprising how different he looked without it. Even though he had some muscle built on his back and arms, he was very lean; unhealthily so, to be exact. Even with the tank top, she could see numerous ribs poking through. He had told her before that he rarely had that many caps and that there were days where went without food, but she didn't expect him to look that lean. Another interesting feature of Miles was the amount of ink he had showing. On his right shoulder and upper arm, she could see four large ace cards of each suite overlapping each other with a pair of rolling dice below them. She took a few steps forward to see the tattoo on his left upper arm. It was a lewdly dressed, dark-haired woman whose voluptuous breasts were only covered by two four-leaf clovers. She was winking while straddling a horseshoe, surrounded by poker chips, card suits, 7's, and other symbols relating to luck. Below this image read the description "Lady Luck". The bottom part of the tattoo seemed damaged, however. It must have been a knife or a bullet wound that messed with it. There were a few other tattoos on his arms as well, but they were all less prominent. It all seemed to deal with gambling. That seemed to fit, given his experience with the activity that she assumed that he had, but she never expected him to be the kind of guy to get tattoos about it. In her opinion, they were all a little tacky, but at the very least, they were well designed.

"Most people say 'good morning'," Miles finally spoke up over the music playing on his pip-boy. Because he didn't even acknowledge her presence with a look, his sudden greeting took her off-guard.

"Oh… well, good morning."

"Good morning yourself, V. You sleep alright? Nice to have a bed, no?"

"Yeah, I-"

"Hold on, the news segment is coming on." He dropped from the pipe he was using and held his pip-boy up, staring at it intently.

" _That was our old friend, Frank Sinatra, wishing a good morning to everyone in the Mojave with the classic, Fly Me to the Moon. I swear to you, if I had wings, I'd fly each and every one of you to the moon, because you all mean that much to me,"_ the charismatic host spoke. Something about Mr. New Vegas was very pleasing to Veronica, as it was to most of his listeners. He had the voice of an old, caring man that knew how to have fun, and he made it seem like he actually gave a damn about all of his listeners, no matter who they were.

" _This is Mister New Vegas with the news. A hostage crisis between the NCR and the Great Khans was resolved peacefully when a third party negotiator successfully secured the hostage's release. Reports on who this third party was have been fuzzy, but whoever it was must have had a silver tongue and a heart of gold. More stories on the way folks, brought to you today by Mick and Ral-"_

He turned it off. "I'll listen to it later. Still, heart of gold… I wouldn't have gone that far. I was only doing it for the information."

"What are you-" She was caught by surprise again. "You… _you_ did that? The hostage thing?"

He looked away, almost as if he was embarrassed. Either that or he regretted letting it slip. "Yeah, do me a favor and keep those outbursts in check. I don't want that going around."

"Why not? That's amazing!"

"Because despite all the dumb 'hero work' I do, I'm trying to stay under the radar the best I can. I don't want…" He stopped again, looking down at his pip-boy.

"Don't want what?" Veronica asked. _The secrets keep coming._ She felt giddy with anticipation.

"Nothing, I'll tell you later." Though knowing him, he probably wouldn't. "What are you doing right now?"

"I was going to go for a run. It's safe to do that in this town, right?"

"Sure, but you better make it quick before it gets hot. I don't want you surviving the gunfight, only to die from a stroke, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be quick. What about you?" As she asked him this, he sat down, fell back on the ground, and began to do crunches.

"I'll buy us something to eat for breakfast,," he offered. "Then we'll get going."

"Oh Miles, you did that last night. I can-"

"Shut up, V, I told you I'll take care of you when you're on the road with me." He almost sounded defensive. Maybe since that he had money, he just wanted to spend it on something.

"Okay, fine," she agreed with a sigh. "I'll meet you there." With that, she left the house, stepping into the hot Mojave sun.

* * *

After her run, some extra exercises, and another shower, Veronica met up with the Courier for a breakfast of gecko egg omelets and banana yucca. Afterward, the two of them met dropped by the general store one last time to pick up some more food, stimpaks, and ammo for their next walk.

 _Camp McCarran…_ Never did Veronica expect to be heading to one of the NCR's major strongholds on such peaceful terms. She'd have to keep her voice down around there for sure in order to avoid detection. She may have thrown some good punches in the past and Miles was a good shot, but they were not good enough to outgun the NCR.

 _I wonder what he thinks of them…_ She knew how he felt about the Legion, but he never spoke much about the NCR, other than that he had done some delivery and merc work for them and he thought that they were a better alternative to Caesar's rule. But he seemed to do anything (within reason) for a stack of caps, so who knew how he really felt about them.

She found herself waiting for the Courier to finish up with the townsfolk. He already said his goodbyes to Doc Mitchel, Trudy, and ED-E (who he decided would be best to stay in Goodsprings). Finally, he was sharing what seemed to be a very intimate moment with Sunny, as his hands were on her hips and her hands were on his lower back. Veronica knew better than to be the third wheel, but she stayed within earshot. She wasn't about to miss anything juicy.

"Maybe I can come with you this time," Sunny offered, hopefulness gleaming in her eyes. "You know me and Cheyenne can handle it."

"I know you can," he agreed, his voice soft. Maybe he knew Veronica was listening. "But they need you here. There may be a few gangers left. Still some raiders left. Still some geckos-"

"I know," she interrupted. "But what about you? Are you gonna be okay? And what about _her_?"

"I'll be fine. She'll be fine," he assured coolly.

"I'm not worried about her. I'm worried about you. After what you saw down there in Nipton-"

"I've been fine. I've seen and been through a lot of shit, Sunny. This isn't about to slow me down." His voice was a little less confident now, but he gave her a small smile. "All you need to worry about is watching out for everybody here. Between you, Cheyenne, and ED-E, you'll keep this place safe." He looked northward, the direction of New Vegas. "Once this struggle over the Mojave ends, I'll take you to Vegas. We'll clean out the casinos so fast that Mr. House will run us out of town. What do you say?"

She grinned. "I like that."

"I knew you would." He looked away again. "I need to take care of something. So you… take care of yourself." He hugged her tightly before giving her a quick kiss on the forehead before leaving her, not looking back as he walked away.

 _Wow, he's smooth._ Veronica still wondered why Miles and Sunny weren't an item or why he wouldn't let her travel with him, as the town didn't rely on just her to protect it. In Veronica's opinion, she was a _very_ attractive girl and both of them seemed pretty close, so why he pushed her away like that… she put those thoughts on pause as Sunny had walked up to her.

"How much of that did you hear?" The young woman didn't seem embarrassed about being snooped on, but more curious and slightly annoyed.

"Uh… enough to form multiple wild theories about you two." The scribe awkwardly chuckled, but Sunny didn't even crack a smile.

"You and the whole town," she groaned, shaking her head. "Considering how he won't even stick around…" Her eyes drifted in the direction that the Courier went, but she immediately refocused on Veronica. "You two going to Camp McCarran next?"

"Yeah, something about a package he's got to deliver for the NCR. After that, New Vegas. He…" she struggled to remember why Miles wanted to go there, other than the gambling. "He said something about meeting an old friend."

"Friend? He doesn't really have many frie-" Sunny's eyes lit up. "Oh, you mean the guy who shot him. Yeah, he's been looking for him since the first time he left. Must have narrowed it down to Vegas then. Figures. A ritzy yuppie like that probably did come from that town."

"Wait, the guy who shot him?" _This is news!_ "That's why he's going to New Vegas?"

Sunny's sun touched face paled. "Shit, you didn't know that? I shouldn't have said anything." After a deep, calming breath, she continued. "Yeah, he wants to find him. Ever since that day, his life has been a mess. He told me last night about all that stuff: the confrontations with the Legion, the people he's traveled with… speaking of which, what about you?"

"Me?" Veronica asked, defensively. "I didn't do anything."

"But what is this all about?" Sunny asked, her voice firm and demanding. "Why are you traveling with him? And don't say it's because you want to go sightseeing or some crap like that. They have merc guilds and bodyguards for that sort of thing. Nobody just goes off with the first stranger they meet."

 _Well, I do._ Still, Sunny was right about one thing. It wasn't just site seeing but also observational education. She wasn't about to tell her all the details though. "I just… I needed to get away from where I was and I had a few close calls traveling alone. He was willing to help out with that. I just can't go home right now."

Sunny raised a suspicious eyebrow, but she eventually loosened up. "That's a mighty vague answer… but fine. Just…" She looked the direction that Miles had walked again, as if to make sure that he had not returned. "Just take care of him, alright? He's really important to us. To me."

This confession really baffled the scribe. "Wait, take care of him? Everybody here has been telling me that I'm in good hands traveling with Miles. Even you said that. What do you mean?"

"Something ain't right with him nowadays," the redhead murmured quietly. "He's been anxious since I first met him- I don't know if it's because he was shot in the head or he was like that before the bullet, but just talking to him, I can see he's getting even more paranoid and stressed out, even though he tries his best to hide it. I remember trying to catch up with him last night and he was getting even more defensive with his secrets about what he's been up too. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the Legion or he thinks one of us is a Frumentarius… I don't know. I'm not some sorta head doctor. But something ain't right with him.

"You though…" Her eyes narrowed as she gave Veronica another long, harsh glare. "For some reason, he's decided to trust you enough to let you travel with him. Maybe it's because he thinks you're a nice girl. Maybe he thinks you're smart. Maybe he likes the way you punch fuckers out. Maybe he thinks you're cute and he's trying to get in your pants… knowing him, that last one's probably it."

That last, blunt "maybe" made Veronica blush. She wanted to say something in response to that, but she just couldn't. Not some woman she barely knew.

"I don't care _why_ he's doing it," Sunny continued, "but he is. So you have to promise me that you'll look out for him. And if something happens to him and you were the cause, I'm holding you responsible. Is that clear?"

"As crystal," Veronica answered, though she felt a lot of weight suddenly added to her shoulders. Sunny looked cute and all, but she was not the kind of person that she'd want mad at her. "I will… where did he go?" The Courier had been gone for a few minutes by then.

"Not sure," Sunny admitted, "but if I were to take a guess, I'd say he's at the cemetery on the hill north of here. Knowing him, he's probably wading in a pool of his own obsession."

"Uh, okay. What do you even mean by that?" Veronica asked, though, in a few minutes, it would all become clear to her.

* * *

Standing alone in the Goodsprings Cemetery, looking down at the spot where he was left for dead… If he were in a movie, he'd be smoking a cigarette as he contemplated the fragility of life. However, in real life, he had given up smoking a while back. Compared to other chems, the investment and the addiction were not worth the payoff.

The spot where he was buried had been filled with dirt and one of the men that the Powder Gangers had killed the day before rested there. Something about that bothered the Courier, but he couldn't blame the town for using an empty burial plot for a man that actually lived in the town. Regardless, the spot was sentimental to him, in both a positive and negative light.

"Sunny told me you'd be here." Veronica had arrived. He turned to see her arrive, her things packed up and herself ready to move out.

"Yeah." He had nothing else to say to that.

"You alright, Miles?"

"Me? Yeah, fine. I just needed to… I don't know." Another silence. Veronica took the chance to break it.

"She told me that your 'friend' in New Vegas is the guy that shot you. This is where it happened, didn't it?"

"Veronica…" He turned away from her completely now, staring northwards to New Vegas. "What happened here was a turning point in my life. I should have died here that night. I mean, who survives a bullet to the head, let alone two?"

"Well… you do, I guess." Veronica tried to say that in an uplifting tone, but it had no effect.

"Yeah… dumb luck. I've had so much dumb luck in my life, surviving all the stuff that I have. But now, I look at what's happened to me. I'm still barely making enough to scrape by in this place, I've got nobody to depend on but myself, and then there's the damn Legion… I don't know if there's any salvation in this world." He looked back down at the plot where he was buried and the flashbulb memory returned.

* * *

" _You got what you were after, so pay up," somebody grunted._

 _The man was answered with a chuckle. "You're crying in the rain, pally."_

 _Somebody had knocked him over the head with a shovel. He did not know who, but he was left awakening from a nasty concussion. When he came to, he found himself bound and gagged while several men (who he would later know to be Khans) around him were talking amongst themselves in voices that were mostly too low for him to hear._

" _Guess who's waking up over here?"_

 _One of them was digging a hole with the shovel that knocked him out and it only took the Courier a second to realize who that hole was for. But why? If these thugs were after his package, why were they going to these lengths to get rid of him? They could have just shot him and left him for dead on the road. Or they could have just mugged him and left him alone like some of the softer raiders would. The Courier had so many questions, but with his mouth tied up, there was no way he could ask any of them. The man who looked to be running the whole ordeal seemed to be different from the others. Instead of being dressed in dirty, raider-like garb, he was wearing a checkered suit and smoking a cigarette. His suit looked ridiculous though, but he seemed to have an air of purpose about him. A purpose that would put Miles six feet under._

 _Was that how it was all going to end? Pretty anti-climactic, all things considered. But to rub salt in his wounds, he could see New Vegas from where he was bound up and kneeling, lit up like the stars themselves. He was so close too._

 _He just wanted one night in that city after delivering the package. Truthfully, the city itself wasn't the prettiest man-made landmark he had ever seen, but knowing that he would never get to experience Vegas was like viewing the pearly gates in all their glory, only to be cast down into Hell the moment after. Knowing that his end was arriving, his adrenaline began to rush as the checkered man approached and looked him right in the eyes. The tackiness of his outfit was offset by his face. He was an attractive, brown-haired man, but he wore the look of a guy who was ready to kill. But something was weird about his expression. It was almost as if he felt bad about what he was doing. Yet, his smile… What was going on?_

" _Time to cash out," the checkered man said, smug._

" _Would you get it over with?" one of the raiders shouted, apparently angry with him for wasting time._

" _Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?" He dropped his finished cigarette on the ground, smothering it with his foot before taking something out of his coat pocket. It looked to be some sort of poker chip, and upon showing it to Miles, the checkered man smirked, as if to say "it's mine now!"_

" _You made your last delivery, buddy."_

 _His thoughts raced. "What does he… was that what was in the package?" Why did this Mr. House want a single, oversized poker chip? New Vegas was supposed to be full of them! More importantly, why was he being killed over a fucking poker chip? Desperate for some sort of answer, Miles strained at his binds, trying to free his mouth at least for the slim possibility of calling for help._

" _Untie his mouth. I'll give him the dignity of some last words," the checkered man ordered, motioning for the raider next to him to do the job._

" _But what if he calls for help?" the raider asked in a deep voice._

" _Relax, baby, it's all sweet. Gave the kid a swish of nightstalker urine after we knocked him out. He'll be able to talk, but his vocal chords will be out of commission 'til morning… or they would be if we weren't feeding him to the worms."_

 _Nightstalker urine… Miles had heard before that nightstalker urine dried out the throat, but it was never something he wanted to try intentionally. That must have been why his mouth tasted like piss. The nearest raider undid the Courier's mouth binding, and all of the men looked at him expectantly._

" _Well?" Benny questioned, ready for some sort of response._

 _The Courier opened his mouth, but no words came out. Even though his tongue and mouth were moist, the back of his throat was dry as a bone. But not willing to go out quietly, he looked his killer dead in the eyes and with a scowl, said "Fuck you, asshole." But this only came out as a raspy whisper._

" _I'm sorry, baby!" the checkered man chuckled. "Didn't quite catch-" He was cut off as Miles had spat into the man's face. At first, the brown-haired man looked disgusted, but then he started laughing again. Apparently, the dire situation that Miles was in was enough to remind the man that spit was the worst thing he could dish out. "You got balls, kid. If I didn't have to kill you, I'd totally take you under my wing. But a man's gotta do… Sorry you got twisted up in this scene."_

 _From another part of his checkered suit, he pulled a silver pistol, 9mm by the looks of it. There was something special about it, but in that dire moment when the reaper was standing before him, the gun's beauty was much overshadowed. He felt his body sweating and his heart beating at top speed. He_ _was really going to die there… why?_

 _Somewhere off in the distance, Blue Moon was playing, and he could just barely hear the lyrics. Ironically,_ _he felt more alone then than he ever had, even after all those days on the lonely road. It looked as though his luck had finally run out._

" _From where you're kneeling it must seem like an 18-carat run of bad luck." The checkered man pointed the gun at Miles head, smiling in a way that said "Oh well."_

" _But, truth is...the game was rigged from the start."_

 _Two gunshots echoed across the desert. Another death in the Mojave that would have probably gone unnoticed if it not for dumb luck._

* * *

He didn't feel the need to tell Veronica the whole story of him getting shot; just the basics. He didn't think it would help him or her in any way. But he did have a point to make, hoping it would keep her from barraging him with questions.

"You know how I said to you that Goodsprings was full of good people?" He didn't bother waiting for her answer. "They're the exception to the rule, as far as I'm concerned. This world is full of scum. And while I value freedom, there's no order in this wasteland. No control. No safety. Because of that, people suffer."

"Wow, where's this coming from?" Veronica questioned softly as she moved into his view to face him, though he continued to look away from her.

"I don't know, I'm just pissed over all of this. I don't know why that man did what he did, but there's something going on with all of this. Suddenly, all I can think about is finding Checkers and… I don't know what I'll do next." That was a lie. He already had several things in mind, and none of them were pretty. "But I guess I'll find out. I'll go where I need to be, I suppose."

"Okay, now you really lost me," Veronica said, puzzled. "Why do you _need_ to do this at all? I mean, I get why you want to, but need to?"

"Because what else is there for me?" he asked. Here he was, opening himself up and she just didn't get it. "I don't feel like I belong anywhere. I haven't felt like that in years. This place… this little town is nice, but it's not my home either. So I just go where I need to be and do what I need to do, I guess. It's why I've been on the road for twelve years. It's why I feel like I have to help everybody I can. Just gotta keep looking." He finally smiled a little. "I guess that makes two of us then, right? Two people looking for something…"

"Wait, that's presumptuous," Veronica cut in. "What do you think I'm looking for?"

"A fresh perspective?" he asked, mimicking her answer from a few days ago. "You're traveling with me for a reason. You left your job as a 'grocery shopper', casting aside the rules of the Brotherhood to travel with somebody you barely know. So, I guess you're just looking for something too, right? What is that 'fresh perspective' you keep talking about anyway?"

She didn't say anything, choosing instead to look down at the earth. Miles assumed he was right, but he wasn't about to press any further. "You don't need to tell me anything you don't want about it, so long as it doesn't bite me in the ass. So," he lifted his magnum, "we gotta get to Camp McCarran."

"Right…"

The Courier started walking down the hill, but was stopped by the hand on his shoulder. He no longer flinched at her touch, but he was slightly unnerved.

"You said that you have nobody to depend on but yourself. But you can depend on me. As long as we're traveling together, I have your back. I promise."

 _Haven't heard that one before._ But since she definitely helped him out with the Powder Gangers, he'd give her the benefit of the doubt. He let a small smirk show. "We'll see. _Thanks._ " He muttered his gratitude, but he was sure that she heard him clearly, as she returned his smile with her own. "Let's roll. We got a lot of ground to cover."


	6. Chapter 6: The Sniper

**Chapter 6: The Sniper**

 _Three lone soldiers and a mongrel walked through the rubble of the old world. Though they were tired, they did not slow their step; not until they found a decent location to set up a camp hidden from the eyes of their enemies. Enemies came in all shapes and sizes, following different flags. But to the three soldiers, it did not matter. All men died the same, whether they were Fiends, Tribesmen, or of the Bear._

 _None of the three Legion soldiers were of incredibly high rank. The explorer legionnaire, Sextus, had been delegated to the scouting mission by his Decanus. "You are to take two of our recruits to chart out the surrounding areas of southern New Vegas," Dead Sea had ordered him. "Stay in the shadows and scout the status of the tension between the NCR and the Fiends from afar. If you find any from either side separated from their comrades, kill them and leave your mark. Let them know that they are not safe."_

 _Sure enough, the three men had killed seven fiends, two NCR soldiers, and one rogue powder ganger in the past day without taking a scratch. But of course, nothing less was expected of them in terms of combat._

 _Each soldier was easily distinguished from the others. Sextus, a thirty-year-old, well-built, well-disciplined man wore light armor, a crimson colored hood, and an old mask that had a breathing apparatus attached to his mouth. In his hands, he carried a machete and a large shield bearing the emblem of the bull. He had been born into the Legion and took great pride in his position, hoping that one day, he would be accepted by Vulpes Inculta to be a part of his Frumentarii. One of his recruits, a twenty-year-old man of Asian descent, wore armor of a similar stripe, though it was not as durable and his simple helmet signified his lower rank. The other recruit, an even younger white man, wearing old, sports equipment that was given to the freshest of legionnaires. Both of the younger men were assimilated from a recently defeated tribe in Utah, and thus, they still required teaching. While wearing the armor announced to the world who they were, it also gave them privilege. For one, it was strong armor that would be useful in combat. But in the armor, civilians both feared and respected them, while enemy soldiers, out of fear, thought twice before firing, since they were convinced to believe that the Legion had more men in a given area than they let on. That was true sometimes; just enough to convince the enemy that it was so. Only when infiltrating a populated area was it worth the risk of wearing civilian clothes._

" _We should set up camp soon," the older of the recruits said. "Fiends are most active at night."_

" _Soon," Sextus replied, his voice stiff and cold. "This is not a suitable place. Too many openings. If the NCR or Fiends were to find us-"_

" _We will crush them under our heels," the youngest interrupted._

" _Hold your tongue, boy," Sextus demanded. "Do not interrupt me."_

" _Why couldn't we fight them?" the young man continued. "We defeated them today with ease."_

" _Those were individual men," Sextus reminded him. "The profligates will try to overpower us with numbers. That is why we must lay low. Do not let your superiority to these wastrels lead you to act rashly. Should you die foolishly, you'll be no further use to Great Caesar's cause." He shook his head. Both of the boys were stupid. Had it been up to him, they would have remained as slaves. His mongrel was a far better companion in the field._

" _Ugh, I should have been a recruit in the battlements," the younger boy complained. "In my tribe, I was-"_

" _Do not speak the name of your tribe, boy," Sextus cut in harshly. "You are Legion and your old world is to be forgotten. You are a scout, so wear your title proudly as you perform your role for Caesar."_

" _Yes sir…" he grumbled. "I just-" Those words of compliance were his last. Before anybody could react, a bullet flew into the young man's skull and out the other side, killing him instantly. Some of the crimson blood spattered onto the other recruit's face, but Sextus was unscathed. The instincts he had developed in training took over._

" _Get down!" he ordered, and he immediately dropped to the earth, raising his shield for protection. Would it protect him from a bullet? That depended on the bullet and gun's strength, so it was all he could do. At his order, even his dog, well trained by Antony, lied down to avoid gunfire. The other recruit was not so quick._

" _What the fuck! He just killed-" A second headshot cut him off short._

" _Dammit," Sextus muttered. The situation would not be easy to explain to Dead Sea. A lone sniper just took out two fresh recruits and that was on him. Maybe he could make the argument that they were poorly trained, but he'd have to wait and see. For the time, all he could do was crawl, find cover, and try to sneak away if he couldn't get the jump on this mystery attacker. He finally made it to the side of an old building, but his mongrel was still lying in wait. Suddenly, the vicious dog began growling in the direction of the gunfire. Not waiting for a command, she barked and bounded towards the attacker, effortlessly leaping over the old debris of the old days. Seconds later, Sextus heard her yelp in pain. No more noise after that…_

" _Dumb dog," Sextus mumbled, though he couldn't be angry at her. She was only a dog, after all. At least she died honorably and much less idiotically than the recruits. But he could not give her or his companions a proper burial or burning for some time._

 _"Get away, find a patrol, alert them of what happened." But he had to know who killed them. Cautiously, he poked his head around the corner of the building for just a moment. He didn't give the assailant enough time to aim at him, but he could not see the attacker either. There was one thing that caught his eye, however. Among all the gray, there was a small spot of red. He couldn't tell what it was, but he knew it wasn't blood. He wanted to look again, but he knew better. A foolish death would not benefit the Legion._

* * *

Desert as far as the eye could see. Thankfully, there were still clouds out. Some days, it would get so hot that one could only travel at dawn and dusk. The cold nights were bearable with the right clothing, but raiders, mutants, and wild beasts thrived in the cover of darkness. So long as they kept a low profile, the courier and the scribe had little to fear. The little that they did fear came in the form of the occasional radscorpion, but Miles knew that if they ventured too west, they'd find deathclaws. Too east, and they'd have to deal with those crazy Black Mountain mutants that killed anything in sight, according to their radio station. The radscorpions were the lesser of three evils.

"So, no stopping for lunch?" Veronica joked, breaking the silence.

"Oh V," the Courier snickered. "Only rich and fat people have lunch." He couldn't remember the last time he had lunch. That was usually a luxury he couldn't afford. Maybe he could have lunch more often if he didn't buy Med-X with his extra caps, but that was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

"Hey, we have lunch in the bunker and I can assure you that none of us are fat," Veronica laughed. Miles just shook his head.

"The only Brotherhood I've seen out here is you. Maybe you're just the exception to the rule. There's always an exception." However, he was getting envious over the fact that _they_ had lunches. As if he didn't already have enough dislike for the Brotherhood already.

"Whatever," she sighed, taking a bite of the piece of big horn jerky she bought in town. "I guess this will have to do. You want some?"

"I'll pass. Not hungry." That was a lie.

"Well, you look hungry. I saw you this morning when you were working out. You look like you haven't eaten in days."

"Classy," he replied, rolling his eyes. _Always the spy._ "When you're on the road, you get used to that. I've gone three days without food before. It's not pretty, but sometimes... forget it. I'll eat when we make camp." He felt a lot less social since leaving Goodsprings. His wasteland instincts were kicking in.

"If you say so," Veronica sighed heavily. "So, do you do stuff like this for the NCR often? Deliveries and that sort of thing?"

"Me? From time to time, yeah, when the money's good. They always need freelancers for deliveries and their dirty work… Especially their dirty work." His thoughts returned to Nipton. "They're so sparsely populated out here, they take all the hands they can."

"Uh huh." She sounded skeptical. "But that soldier said you helped them before? What was that all about?"

"I killed a few escaped convicts in Primm, cleared out some scorpions on the road to Goodsprings, the Nipton job…" That still gave him chills. "I don't know if he knew about the Khans, but there's that too."

"Wow, sounds like a lot of merc work," Veronica commented. She sounded a bit uneasy and he picked up on that.

"Mercs have standards too, you know. At least some of them do. I'll do what I can for the caps, but within reason. Not about to kills kids or anything like that. There are some mercs out there that'll do that sort of thing, but not me. But I'm not a merc by trade. Just a… gofer, I guess." He didn't like that word either, but considering that the NCR's package was the first package he ran in a while, it fit him the best.

"Well, okay. You gotta do what you gotta do, I guess," Veronica shrugged, stuffing the jerky back in her pocket. "Still, you sound busy ever since getting shot in the head."

"Ugh, you have no idea," he grumbled while wiping some sweat from his brow. He hadn't even told her half of what he had been doing.

"Ha, when do you even sleep with all the errands you run?"

"When it comes. It's not easy though." Another subject he didn't want to touch. It had never been easy for him to find sleep, but lately, the Med-X was the greatest sleep aid he could ask for. Even then, he couldn't find it comforting. " _To sleep, perchance to dream."_ He didn't even remember his dreams anymore, save the one about him looking down the barrel of Checkers's gun.

Veronica stopped in her track and her mouth hung slightly agape in mild surprise. "That's Hamlet."

"Pardon?" He stopped to look at her, confused.

"You just quoted Hamlet," she repeated, still astounded and her eyes lit up.

"I did?" He didn't realize that he had said that out loud.

"Yes, you did," she reaffirmed. "How did you know that quote? Most people in the wastes are lucky if they can read, let alone quote Shakespeare."

"Well, how do _you_ know?" he mimicked, trying to dodge the question.

"Hello, Brotherhood bunker?" she reminded him, laughing. "We had archives on everything. We never read much outside of what was useful for our training, but we did have a few literature classes and a lot of old movies on holotape." She placed a hand on her hip and cocked her head at him. "But you're… you're a courier."

"So, that means I can't be a little bit educated?" he chuckled. A common stereotype was that the typical wastelander was uneducated, which was true in most cases. Still, the exceptions, such as himself, were targeted by this stereotype as well. "That's classist."

"No, no, that's not what I meant," she backtracked, unsure of if he was being serious or not. "It's just… unordinary."

"I think by now, you'd know that I'm not ordinary." Arrogant as that sounded, surviving two shots to the head should have made that clear.

"Well, could you at least tell me _where_ you know it from?" she pleaded.

"Ugh, why are we always talking about me? Can't we talk about you? Your life? Your family? Your-"

"Codex," she reminded him with a groan. "Giving personal info is a big no-no. I already breached it by telling you what I have already and I don't feel comfortable with much more right now. But you-"

"At least I'm not making bullshit excuses." He barely knew anything about the codex she spoke of and he already disliked it. Still, Veronica was already onto him, thanks to his latest slip up. _Well, if we're going to make this trip, we might as well talk about something. It's not like she can use this info against me… I hope._

"I know a little bit because I grew up in a library."

"A library? What library?" That was a legitimate question. Libraries weren't exactly a commonality like they were in the old days. The ones that were still standing were usually barren, as many of the books had been picked over by scavengers over the years, sometimes for knowledge, other times for a good source of fire-starting material. The books that were left were usually damaged to the point that they were illegible. Books that were still intact were rare, but could fetch a good price with the right buyer. "Miles, nobody has libraries anymore. At least not public ones."

"The NCR has a few," he reminded her, but that wouldn't help her cause. She already knew that he was from Montana, a place that the NCR hadn't touched much of.

"But you're not NCR. You wouldn't have grown up there. So…" She frowned, contemplating the remaining options. "The Brotherhood has libraries, but I know you aren't Brotherhood. The Enclave has libraries, but they're all but dissolved in the west… and I don't think you're Enclave… The Followers of the Apocalypse have libraries and they're known to share a little too much…" Her eyes lit up. "Are you a Follower?"

He wasn't going to bother lying, but he knew he had to be careful. Ideologically, Followers and Brotherhood were definitely in opposition. "Sort of."

"Sort of?" She raised an eyebrow, but at least she wasn't upset at the revelation. "How are you 'sort of' a Follower?"

"Same way that Caesar is 'sort of' a Follower?" He questioned in return. It was well known that Caesar had roots with the Followers of Apocalypse, but he obviously opposed those viewpoints in his current state. Thankfully, Miles himself wasn't as far gone. "I was raised by a branch of them in Montana. My mom was one of them, so I had access to free education and an entire library. That being said, I'm not officially a Follower; never really got inducted. I believe in a lot of things that they stand for, but I don't exactly adhere to everything."

Veronica looked confused. "What do you mean?"

 _Go figure. They probably said nothing about them in the bunker, other than that they're a bunch of peace-loving anarchists like everybody else says they are,_ he thought to himself."I know you saw my tattoos this morning. I told you last night that I'm good at blackjack and I've hustled pool. In short, I like gambling. Followers usually aren't too big on that. They aren't big on violence or merc work either."

"Of course," she agreed. "But what do you agree with?"

"I don't know, the sharing of technology for one." _Tread lightly on this_ , he reminded himself. "The spread of knowledge. In fact…" He stopped walking and held his Pip-Boy in front of both of them and pulled up one of the folders. Inside, there were thousands of files, each labeled as the title to a book. He figured that if Veronica hadn't turned on hi already, she wouldn't then either.

"Wow… what is this?" Veronica asked, scanning each title she could see with her eyes. "Books? How many are there in here?"

"A little over six thousand. This was all copied from a holotape my mom was working on. She was scanning books into a transferable form that the Followers could share amongst themselves and other civilizations. I've been spreading it across the wastes ever since I left and I plan to leave a copy for the Followers in New Vegas. I'm just really glad that when Checkers mugged and shot me, he missed the holotape. Or he didn't care. Either way, I copied them onto my Pip-Boy, so now..."

"This is amazing." She touched one of the buttons of his pip-boy and opened the file labeled "Walden" and started scanning the opening lines. "It's all here. You have an entire library here." She stared in awe, but her face fell slightly. "But are you sure that it's safe to share all of this information with people? I mean, I'm fine with sharing the fiction, but the history books? I also see…" She squinted. "Laser Rifle Manual... Miles, I don't know…"

 _Typical Brotherhood._ It pained him not to roll his eyes. "Look, if you got a problem with this-"

"No, I know I won't be able to stop you," she admitted, looking away from him and his portable library. "Still…" Silence. "Why are you doing this? What happened that caused you to leave home and carry this out? You said your mother died, but-"

"It's a long story," he interrupted, but that didn't slow the scribe down.

"It's a long walk," she added, a small grin reappearing as she urged him to talk more about himself.

"Fine, I'll give you the condensed version then." The two started walking again and he started from the beginning. "Grayfield, Montana: before the war, it was just a little farming town in the middle of nowhere. After the war, it was much of the same. All and all, it was a pretty good place to live. We always had enough crops and big horners, and traders would come by every few weeks. For the most part, we were self-sufficient and peaceful."

"Sounds like a nice enough place," Veronica commented, her eyes wide with anticipation for what she would learn next. "Down here, there are too many groups fighting for control."

"We had a few of those," Miles admitted. "There was a group of Great Khans that lived a few miles north of us, but we struck a deal with them. We gave them food and medical aid, and in turn, they'd leave us alone and war with the other raiders and tribes in the area, consequently keeping them away. It was a good thing too. We bought peace with the baddest group of raiders around. There was also the Brotherhood, though. They had a bunker out there somewhere nearby, but I couldn't tell you where. For the most part, they left us alone, except when they'd come into town and look for any important technology. Still, they never attacked us or anything."

"Mhmm, sounds like something we'd do," Veronica admitted, frowning. "But you said the Followers were out there. Why? That place is way out of reach of any major civilization."

"You're right," the Courier agreed. "NCR only sent a few scouts up there and I don't think any Legion were in those parts. But the Followers went up there to document the tribes. What they found though was incredible: there was an old library that was completely empty; no books on the shelves or anything. But they found a pressurized vault underneath the old place that was filled with books. And I mean thousands of books, each one perfectly preserved. They found out that the entire library had been hidden by the man who ran the building, who apparently knew that war was coming, so he hid the books so that the knowledge would be saved." He looked upwards at the sky, which was still cloudy, thankfully. "It must have cost him a fortune to do that."

"No kidding," Veronica said, still interested. "What happened next?"

"Well, it was my mother who they put in charge of scanning every book to a digital format, as well as trading for new texts. Surprisingly enough, the Brotherhood didn't seem to care that we had the books, but they were more interested in tech anyway. So, we lent books out to people who lived in town. Everything went well." He had that small smile on his face again. "Then, about twenty-eight years ago, some asshole knocked my mom up and ran off before I was born. But I lived pretty comfortably. There was always food to eat, books to read, and people to befriend in Grayfield… until _they_ came."

"Who?" Veronica asked, anxious for the plot twist.

"The Black Suns," Miles answered, now scowling with disgust. "They were a gang of raiders from the east who were way too cocky. They just rolled into town one day and began shooting and burning the place up. It happened so quickly that the Khans didn't respond to the threat in time, and in a matter of minutes, the town we built was reduced to nothing. After they took what they wanted, only a few of us survived. I was one of them, of course. I had been shooting at them from the attic in my house, but I got hit in the shoulder by a stray bullet. Nobody saw me up there, so I was ignored, but my mother and the Followers weren't so lucky."

"Wow…" Veronica looked less excited and far more depressed. "I'm sorry. I- it must… nobody could help you?"

"Actually, we may have been alright if- Nevermind…" The Brotherhood had sent three paladins there that day to search for tech, but none of them had lent their aid. But he didn't need to open up that can of worms with Veronica. Not that day, at least. "After that, I knew I didn't have a future in that town, so I gathered up anything I could find of value, locked up all the books below the library for somebody else to find, copied the files to holotape, and left."

"Just like that?" The scribe seemed surprised by his decision to just up and leave.

"Just like that," he repeated. "Those were good people… like Goodsprings. But I couldn't stay there and watch what few of us were left struggle to rebuild. There weren't enough people to sustain that place and I couldn't let my mom's work die. I was planning on being the next librarian, but after the raid, I knew I needed a different path. So, I figured it would be best to spread my mom's digital books around the wastes. I've been doing it for twelve years now. Of course, I needed money and an excuse to travel, so I became a courier. Occasionally, I'd take odd jobs, low-level merc work, and caravan jobs, but I mostly worked as a courier, either freelance or for different companies. So, does that answer your questions?"

"Yeah, most of them," Veronica answered, seeming pleased with herself that she managed to collect more info on him, but she also seemed also troubled. "I'm sorry about what happened, but what you're doing now… that's noble. Really noble."

"Even though you don't agree with it?" he asked, not making eye contact with her.

"Well… I don't know. That's how I was raised, but I can see your perspective. It's hard for me not to see why people would want to rebuild, but the elders don't see it that way at all." A thought came to her mind, and from the corner of his eye, the Courier could see it on her face. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure."

"You said the town is- was like Goodsprings. Is that why you went out of your way to defend Goodsprings like you have?"

That question actually took him by surprise. Veronica had amazing perception, but he didn't want to talk about it anymore. Despite the comparison, Goodsprings wasn't his home. It didn't feel right, especially in times of war and struggle.

"Miles?"

"By the way, about that," he finally said, "please don't get into the habit of calling me 'Miles'."

She sighed in response. "Really? You're still worried about that?"

"I'm always going to be worried about that," he told her, indignantly. "If Checkers knows my real name, I'll be easy to track. If the Legion has figured out my real name… let's not think about that."

"So, what should I call you? Zack?"

"That works, yes. It's what most people around here know me as. At least everybody who isn't in Goodsprings."

"Yeah, I know Kilborn called you that." Another question seemed to emerge in her expression. "Why Zack?"

"Why I chose the name?" he guessed. When she nodded in return, he gave her an explanation. "Zack Gilmore was a courier I used to work with. Decent guy, but a nasty temper. When we took a trip to New Reno awhile back, he lost a lot of money and threw a fit in one of the casinos. Asshole got himself killed after punching a bouncer."

"Huh, that's a bit grim," Veronica breathed. "But you didn't tell me why you chose to use his name."

"Because he existed," Miles reiterated. "You see, I was a freelancer, so after my package was stolen in Reno, I never went back to the company I delivered for. Didn't want to face the repercussions." That was a common problem in his old career. Couriers who failed to deliver were often dealt with very harshly. "But he didn't go back either, so they don't know what happened to him. He died a nobody in New Reno, so nobody knew that he was gone. And he never went to New Vegas, so nobody knows him here, but if they do their research, they'll see that Zack Gilmore was not the courier who died in Goodsprings but a completely separate person. Get it?"

"Yeah, sure, I guess," she shrugged, seemingly not getting it at all. "Still, I think you're paranoid. Do you really think that your 'friend' has been keeping tabs on the possibility that you might be alive?"

"Better safe than sorry. If he listens to the news, he's probably already cautious." He figured that with all of the rules and regulations that the Brotherhood had, she'd understand why he was so paranoid, but it was lost on her. Then again, she didn't see the whole picture.

 _One day at a time, I guess,_ he thought to himself. Assuming the next day didn't kill him. They had been coming awfully close to doing so as of late.

* * *

"Shit, are they-"

"Dead? Obviously."

"Mil- I mean, _Zack_ , I know they're dead," Veronica scoffed. _Not everybody survives a bullet to the head, you know._ "I was going to ask if they were Legion."

"Oh, right, you haven't actually seen any on the field yet, have you?" He knelt down next to the two corpses. Both men looked very young, but their faces were bloody and disfigured from the gunshots. "These are low-ranking scouts. At least this one is," he said, pointing to the one with more "authentic" armor. "This one," he began, pointing at the one with the sports padding, "probably is a scout too, but this armor is for the very new recruits. They were probably out charting the area with a high-ranking scout, but something happened to them…"

"Well, I'm pretty sure they got shot," Veronica needlessly reminded him with a hint of sarcasm. She reached out to touch one of the fallen men's satchels, but the Courier slapped her hand away.

"Don't touch," he warned her.

"Why? We aren't going to search them for anything worth scavenging?" He had told her earlier that he would check every corpse he crossed. Even finding a single bullet made it worth it in his mind.

"Exception to the rul- Look, it's tempting, but unless you're absolutely starving, you never want to touch a Legion corpse. If they see you touching one of their own…" He looked around the area, scanning for any signs of life. "This one time I delivered a package in Legion territory east of here, I found a legionnaire corpse. I was really thirsty, so I took his canteen, but that's when they found me. The legionnaire overseeing that group threatened to 'cut off the hand that dared to disgrace his fallen brother.' Those words exactly."

Veronica looked down at both of Miles's hands and then back at Miles himself. "So how'd you get out of that one?"

"That legionnaire happened to be corrupt. He accepted a bribe and let me go unscathed. Still..." He did another scan of the environment. "These bodies look like they've been here for about a day or so; they're still relatively fresh by wasteland standards. But the Legion always comes back to collect the bodies of their own. If they haven't gotten here by now, there's still a possibility that somebody is watching us from the shadows, waiting to see if whoever killed these guys came back to loot the bodies. They associate guilt with that, so again, don't touch." He squinted as he stared at the corpses. "At least one of them got away, though."

Veronica cocked her head. "How can you tell?" She was amazed at his knowledge of Legion activity, so anything she could pick up from him would be worth it if she was to be traveling through the war zone with the Courier.

"Just a hunch," he said, shrugging. "Legion rarely travel in groups less than three unless they're in disguise. I see two bodies. If I were a betting man, and I am, I'd say that at least one guy got away. Maybe he got killed somewhere away from here, but I'm not going to risk looking for him. Alive or dead, that's trouble."

"Right…" Veronica grimaced. The smell of the two dead soldiers was not getting anymore bearable. And Miles said that they were fresh, so she couldn't imagine what "not-so-fresh" smelled like. "So, who do you think did this?"

"I think we can count out the Fiends," Miles said assuredly as he began to pace. "Even though we are on the edge of Fiend territory, I doubt a raider would have made two shots this clean. If these guys were peppered with bullets and laser burns, that would be a good case for the Fiends, but here… No. This was done by a professional. Do you know if the Brotherhood patrols out here?"

"You know I can't tell you that," she admitted sheepishly, "but I don't think this was us." The real reason was that the patrols outside of the bunker during the lockdown didn't patrol in that territory. Too many NCR and Fiends about, so they tended to stick to areas where they could patrol without much harassment. "So, NCR?" Veronica guessed. That guess was as good as any. The NCR didn't have sharpshooters.

Miles shook his head. "That was my first guess, but I don't think it was NCR. Look at their hands."

Veronica looked and saw nothing out of the ordinary. "Why?"

"You see these rings?" He pointed to the right ring finger of the closest corpse. "Legion wear these rings when they're in full garb. NCR soldiers would have cut the finger and taken it in as proof that they took out a member of the Legion. These guys though… Huh…"

"So… back to square one?" Veronica asked, shrugging. Still, the mystery they had encountered was one of the most exciting things that had happened all day.

"Yeah, I-" He stopped himself and stared into space. "Unless..."

"Huh. So it is NCR? I mean, I don't think _that_ many people loosely carry around sniper rifles," Veronica added. "But the NCR does."

"You're right," he agreed, still deep in thought. "Raiders normally don't use guns like that. Too expensive and difficult to care for. Civilians usually pass them up for those reasons as well. And if it's not Brotherhood... Snipers are usually military or… ex-military." His face paled and his scowl grew. "Excuse me." He knelt next to the corpses again. Taking a deep breath, Miles broke his own rule and turned the head of the helmetless recruit so they could see his right ear… or the space where it used to be. Instead, there was a bloody gash. Veronica saw his eyes narrow and he began breathing deeply through his nose.

"Boone," he growled under his breath.

"What? What's a Boone?" Veronica questioned.

"A fucking psychopath with a death wish." He stood up and pulled his gun to his hand. "It's not safe here. Let's find somewhere to crash."

"Zack-"

"Not now. We'll talk later. Let's go."

"Okay, okay," she sighed. _What's his problem?_ She had to quicken her pace to keep up with him. _Well, I'll find out sooner or later. I always do._ She was so engrossed with her thoughts that she almost missed the dead dog she passed on her left.

* * *

"Score," Miles cheered gleefully as he pulled his prize from the old drawer. They picked out an old, single-story house to camp out in for the night, since sleeping inside a building was always safer than camping, especially in Fiend territory. Still, they barricaded the doors and would be taking wake shifts, since it was impossible to be too careful when raiders prowled the streets.

He held up the carton of cigarettes he had found, showing it to Veronica. "You smoke?"

She shook her head and laughed as if he had asked something stupid. "No, those were banned in the bunker. Besides, I wouldn't want to anyway. They're no good for you, you know."

"Yeah, I know. I don't smoke anymore anyway. I just thought maybe if you did…" He looked down at his prize, grinning like an idiot. Most houses like the one they were using had been stripped of anything valuable years ago, but occasionally, one could find goodies that somebody else may have hidden away when they were passing through. "These are a good brand though. NCR grows great tobacco out west. But if we don't smoke them, they'll fetch a good price." He wrapped up his prize and moved towards the center of the room where Veronica was sitting on an old sofa and fell into it himself, his arms sprawled out.

"Good day, all things considered," he narrated to the both of them. "Sun wasn't too hot, there were barely any scorpions on the road, and no Fiends. As long as nobody saw me touch that scout, I think this was the best day I've had in awhile."

Veronica gave him a look. "Really? This was your best day? It was pretty uneventful."

Miles scoffed. He started to remove his jacket, as even in the cold desert nights, the house they were in had retained heat from the day before. "V, never take an uneventful day for granted. Uneventful means nothing bad happened."

"But it also means nothing great happened," she reminded him, earning another scoff from him.

"Out here, where each day could possibly be your last and you have to do what you can to survive, living another day is a great accomplishment in itself." He sighed to himself. "No, I like days like this. When you have a good day, you're just experiencing a karmic imbalance. Eventually, the luck runs out and you crash if you aren't prepared. Days like this, you're at equilibrium. I like that. As much as I enjoy the occasional burst of luck, I'll take days like these when they're available." Still, her lack of appreciation for an uneventful day bothered him. "I take it that you have a lot of good days back in that hole in the ground? You guys got it made."

Veronica shrugged, a half smile on her face. "I guess? I don't know, I guess I did in comparison to living out here. At the end of the day, we were safe, had food, training, education. Still… Sometimes, it wasn't really living. At least it didn't feel like it."

"That sounds alright to me," he chuckled, unsure of what she was so upset over. "I'd take that security over the shitty outside."

"But it didn't feel like security at all," she explained. "We were always afraid that one day, the NCR would come knocking on our door or the Enclave would reform. We were always living in fear. On top of that…" She looked down at the floor. "When was the last time like you felt as though you belonged somewhere?"

He picked up in her tone that she seemed saddened. He felt similarly, he assumed, as he searched the archives of his life for the last time he felt like he belonged somewhere. "It's been a long time… But back home up north. I loved my mother and the people she worked with. Never been the same since… I've had a few friends here and there, but never anything long-term. There are towns that I love, like Goodspirings, but I felt like an outsider nonetheless. New Reno…" His eyes glazed over with memories. _There_ was a good time. "I loved visiting that filthy city, but I know I couldn't live there. It would have killed me. But yes, there was a time. Why?"

"Nothing, I just always felt that I never completely belonged down there. After my parents died, I didn't have much to rely on, people-wise. There were a few, I guess… none that I can mention to you, at the risk of exposing certain information."

"Ah yes, I love that you pry into my life, but you can't tell me a damn thing about yours." His voice sounded neutral, but Miles was slightly annoyed by that. However, he wouldn't pry anymore outside of his next question. "You ever gonna tell me why you ran away? Why you don't feel so at home down there?"

She just looked away. Something about the way her face changed… Miles imagined that she wanted to talk, but she wouldn't. Loyalty to her people, maybe? That had to be it. Maybe someday, she'd open up to him, but suddenly, he didn't care. He felt that twitch resonating in his eyelid.

 _I need a Med-X._ "No talking? That's fine, that's fine. Do you want me to take first watch?"

"No, I feel bad now. You were right about me prying." Her sadness suddenly melted away into excitement. "Let me make it up to you. I'll give you your first fighting lesson tonight."

He groaned. "Now? Come on, it's late."

"It's also getting cool. This will keep you warm. Plus, maybe with my help, you won't fight like a sloppy, club-footed drunk." She smiled that cute smile that he recognized from the day they met.

 _There's that smile. It suits her much better._ "Fine, fine, but watch your mouth. I've met plenty a club-footed drunk that knew how to brawl." He stood up, cracked his neck with a quick stretch, and stood ready to learn from his new teacher. By the end of the night, he probably would need that Med-X.

* * *

 **A note about the** **aesthetic: I always liked the Legion Overhaul mod for this game, so the Legion's appearance will be a mixture of the canon and the mod in this interpretation.**


	7. Chapter 7: A Severed Head

**Chapter 7: A Severed Head**

Miles did end up actually needing that Med-X, or at least he felt as though he needed it. That night, after going over basic forms and stances in Veronica's form of hand-to-hand combat, the scribe decided that Miles would learn better by actually getting his ass kicked. Personally, he thought Veronica only said that because she got some sort of satisfaction of having control, considering that he was the one running the show all day, but he said nothing. No need to upset the woman that could probably kill him with her bare hands.

Needless to say, the training was brutal, as well as brutally embarrassing. Even the few "real" techniques he had picked up in the wastes didn't help him, as Veronica could block anything he threw at her. There was nothing that he had that she couldn't adapt too. As for the hits she could have landed, she would stop right before hitting him to point out his mistakes... most of the time. He had the bumps and bruises to prove it.

After several hours of training, the two settled in for the night, ready to go the next morning. However, the new day was not one to travel in, as the forecast they had heard over the radio had lied to them. From the morning on, the sun blazed extra hot, and Miles decided that traveling in it would be dangerous, especially in Fiend territory. They stayed indoors, endured the heat, and rationed their water. But that extra time they spent in the intense heat drained their supplies. They had some left, but not enough to take the intended route, especially if another heatwave hit. When evening finally came, they set out again.

Thankfully, there was still no sight of the drugged-up raiders that roamed south of New Vegas. The Courier had expected that he'd have to kill at least one by then, but no such luck (or unluck.) What they did find was interesting regardless: wanted posters.

"Wanted: Motor-Runner." He walked along the old wall and saw various other posters, portraying wanted fiend leaders: Violet, Driver Nephi, Cook-Cook, Duke, Daniel, and Motor-Runner. The artistic interpretation of each man and the one woman showed them as horrifyingly ugly beasts to match their mean streaks. Miles tried to laugh at how the posters portrayed the Fiends, but he wasn't feeling much better about traveling in that part of town. "Huh, lovely neighborhood, right?"

"I can't believe you're joking about this," Veronica said, nervousness in her voice. "Are you sure this is the best way to get to Camp McCarran? Is it safe?"

"The camp is smack dab in the middle of Fiend territory," Miles reminded her. "Is it safe? No, but you gotta roll the dice sometimes. We don't have enough food and supplies to take the safest route, which would take us way off track, so this is the safest, shortest route. All we got to do is keep our heads down and keep going. And if we see any of these assholes," he said, motioning to the posters, "we'll run like rabid brahmin. The reward ain't worth the risk, if you ask me. I'm not afraid of a few raiders, but the head honchos are on top for a reason. Best to avoid them and let the NCR handle the big dogs."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Veronica agreed. "Let's just not get killed." The two began walking again, keeping an eye out for any possible threat. With any luck, they'd get there soon, but the night was still young. "I just don't understand," Veronica said softly so that they would not be heard by any lurking Fiends nearby. "How are these raiders still even around? With the NCR and Legion hanging about, and New Vegas having army of robots, how come nobody's wiped them out yet?"

"Well, there is a lot of them. Strength in numbers?" the Courier speculated. It was true that the Fiends were crawling out of the metaphorical woodwork around the New Vegas outskirts. But Veronica shook her head.

"Numbers don't mean much when you're outgunned and outsmarted," Veronica replied. "One of our four-man squads took out a group of two dozen Fiends that had wandered south. And they did it without sustaining a single injury."

"Well, if it's that easy, why hasn't the Brotherhood taken them all out by now?" he challenged, following her boasting of the Brotherhood's firepower. "I'm sure they could, considering you guys got that power armor stuff."

"Oh, they _could_ , but they won't," Veronica sighed, ready to retell the same old reasoning for why the Brotherhood failed to act on anything. "It's not a priority. The Fiends don't have any technology that we're searching for. Even if they did, hunting them down could be dangerous with the NCR and Legion around."

"I imagine that's everybody's excuse," the Courier told her. "The NCR is stretched so thin right now that they can't just run into the nest to eliminate them. On top of that, a lot of the NCR soldiers around here are green as fuck. I wouldn't trust them to systematically wipe out the Fiends unless they got more soldiers with more experience, especially with the Bull waiting to strike. As for the Legion, I'm sure any fully trained legionnaire could probably take out five raiders on his own in a matter of seconds without breaking a sweat. Legion has the numbers too, but sending troops here could end badly if the NCR catches them. Right now, they don't have the numbers for a full-frontal assault on New Vegas. Plus, since they're camped out on the other side of the river, they really have no need to worry about the Fiends." He had another thought about why the Legion had yet to strike. "Besides, while the Legion hates chem users, they probably like that the Fiends give the NCR so much trouble. Less work for them"

"And House's robots?" Veronica reminded him.

"I don't know, maybe he can't build them at a fast enough rate… or at all. If that's the case, it would probably be too risky to send them to the raiders, leaving Vegas abandoned, especially with the Bear and Bull knocking at the front door." He squinted, looking westward into the sun. "It's one big chess game. No sense in leaving the king open to catch a pawn if the enemy's queen is waiting. It's a bad strategy. So as much as a nuisance as these raiders are, they're hardly the biggest threat."

Veronica was smiling at the metaphor he had used. "You play chess too?"

He smirked at her assumption. "Please, there's no money in that. The game is too long and too complicated to invest in. Give me something short and sweet."

She just shook her head. "You and your gambling. Vegas is going to pick you clean. You know what they say: the house always wins."

Miles chuckled at that as if she had said something funny. "They told me that at New Reno too and I proved them wrong. This place is no different. Just a little bit bigger."

"Oh really? Then where's all that money now?" she teased. Did she not believe him? Her question was a legitimate one, he would admit.

"Well, that's another long story. I-" Gunfire cut him off. "Cover!" Switching from casual alertness to controlled panic, he grabbed Veronica's arm and rushed both of them behind a nearby building, hoping that there was no one to see them at their new vantage point.

"Ahahaha!" Whoever shot at, them was laughing, but they seemed to be coughing as well. "Where are you, little mice? Come out and play!"

"Ready your weapon," Miles ordered in a whisper as he drew his 9mm machine pistol.

"Which one?" the scribe asked. "Fist or gun?"

"The fist. Lot of raiders don't have guns. If any of the rats sneak in with swords and shit, you can cover us."

"Awww, little babies wanna play hide and seek?" The attacker laughed again, cruelty resonating in his voice that seemed to be getting closer. "Your girlfriend is pretty cute. Maybe I'll keep her around. She'll be popular back home. "

Veronica cringed at that last line. "How many are there, you think?" she asked again in a low voice.

He peaked around the corner. Thankfully, the raider's head was turned when he did this. But in that brief glimpse, he saw the attacker for what he was: a filthy man in pieced together leather armor and metal pieces that he must have scavenged from metal armor. He was bare-chested though and he wore a helmet made out of a bighorner skull. In his hand, he carried a dirty 10mm machine pistol that looked poorly cared for. But the most notable thing about the man was his smell. Miles could smell him from where he stood and the raider reeked of body odor and death.

"I see one, but there may be more. If we kill this one, there may be others ready to swarm. Raiders are like ants: You kill an ant and the others follow the smell." Still, it was a risk he was willing to take. Letting a raider follow them was a stupid way to die. Deciding to be stealthy, he pulled his 10mm with the silencer and took his shot. No sense in using the machine pistol if you only needed one bullet.

"Got him." He whispered after the thud of a dead body falling was heard. He motioned to stay put for a second, but he heard nobody else. There was a chance they were hiding, but he was willing to risk it. "Can you do a body search? I'll cover you."

Veronica scrunched her nose at the suggestion, but she nodded, knowing that he wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

"Good, I'll cover you." Cautiously and still crouched, they sneaked over to the dead raider and the Courier scanned the area as Veronica searched the corpse. Nobody seemed to be around. "What do we got?"

"10mm bullets, this old piece of crap," she said, holding up the gun, "and some chems… we keep those too?"

"Damn straight, these sell well to the right clientele. I'm no dealer, but I know money." They methodically packed everything and Miles looked at the crappy machine pistol. "The pistol I gave you… keep it. I'll fix this one up eventually. But we need to keep moving. We were lucky that this piece of shit was on his own." He was not feeling all that confident anymore about walking into the biggest nest of rats in the Mojave. But with what little supplies they had left, they had no choice but to march forward.

* * *

They made their way northward slowly. Sure enough, they saw more raiders. Most of them were busy getting high around bonfires while a few of them were on patrol. But Miles and Veronica kept a low profile, sneaking around corners and ducking behind ruble when appropriate. They did get into one firefight, but it was over quickly. The raiders were unorganized, sloppy, used poor weapons, and had predictable tactics. However, he was surprised to see that a lot of them used energy weapons. He had rarely ever seen raiders use such an arsenal. Perhaps if Veronica brought news ofthat back to the Brotherhood, they'd consider wiping out the Fiends a priority?

"How close are we?" Veronica asked. The stress was getting to both of them, and the pain from constantly crouching wasn't helping either.

"Hard to say… not far, but this place is a maze of concrete and rubble." He really wanted his Med-X, but he knew better than to take a dose with Veronica seeing him, especially as the crossed the hellhole south of New Vegas. "You doing alright, V?"

"Yeah… sure." She was obviously lying. "Is this going to be a regular thing with us?"

He groaned at the idea. "Let's hope not. In hindsight, this was an awful idea, but we didn't know that we were going to be stuck inside all day. But we're almost done. Just a little bit further. Just a little bit- Holy…" Another gruesome sight to add to the many that they had seen already that day, but the new one looked and smelled far more grotesque.

Veronica recoiled at the sight, her face contorting. "Oh God, is that what I think it is?"

"Probably." It wasn't something that he hadn't seen before, but it was still disturbing. He didn't show it, however. He knelt by what was a burnt corpse. All of the skin was charred to a darkened crisp and its clothes and hair were burned off. "Look at the hips. This was a woman. Maybe a female ghoul."

Veronica did her best not to lose her lunch. "I… Ugh, what happened? I mean, she was burned, obviously, but-"

"Raiders," he answered, stating the obvious in a monotone voice. "They love to do stuff like this. Torture, rape, gruesome killing, etcetera. This woman was probably a traveler like us who got captured or even one of their own that they decided to torture for whatever godforsaken reason. Raiders are fucked up like that." He stood up and took a few steps forward. Leading up to where the burnt body lay, ashen footprints led from the west. "Probably from that building over there. Looks like she ran over here before dying" He pointed at the remains of a fallen structure. "Let's keep moving. I don't like this."

As he turned east, several raiders were just rounding the corner of a building directly north of them. Both parties stared at each other for a second before one of the raiders cackled. "You lost, fuckers?"

"Oh great." He drew his machine pistol and Veronica readied her power glove. There were only three of them, and only one of them had a gun. With V.A.T.S., they could be easily dispatched, but the lack of cover was not comforting. Plus, the Courier would rather not use the gun if he could help it. The last thing he wanted was for other raiders to come running towards the noise. _Should have drawn the silencer. Great._

One of the female raiders licked her lips as she brandished her rusted sword. "Mmm, Cook-Cook's gonna love you two. 'Specially you, sweetheart," she said, staring directly at Veronica.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll walk away now," Miles threatened. As expected, the Courier's threat didn't hold much power against these raiders. They just laughed even more. Two more with guns appeared from around the corner. Under his breath, he muttered, "V, on the count of three, run. I'll be right behind you. We have to act _now._ Before they do."

"Wait, what are you-"

He didn't wait. "Three."

* * *

When Miles opened fire, Veronica did as he asked her, clasping her gun in her left hand and her gauntlet in the right. There was no way she'd be able to make the shot with her left hand, but it gave her a bit of false comfort. Behind her, she could hear Miles's gun firing and a few of the raiders yelling out in pain. He was running behind her, but slightly slower as he would turn around to aim and shoot.

"You're mine!" A raider bounded from behind an old building with a steel rod in hand, but he was easily dispatched with a punch of her gauntlet that imploded his face.

 _Don't stop. Keep running._ She wondered if they could have taken that small group of raiders. She believed that they could have, but maybe Miles didn't want to attract more of them to that location, considering that they had no cover. In general, he seemed to prefer avoiding conflict wherever possible, which was probably what a lone traveler like him had to do to survive. However, he definitely wasn't afraid to shoot once the battles started.

"Son of a bitch, not again!"

"Miles?" she stopped and looked around to see him crouched, holding his leg with one hand.

"Don't call me that. Got shot in the thigh. Keep running! I'm right behind you!"

"Right behin- You've been shot! You-" she shouted in disbelief.

"Keep running! We'll be fine!" He looked up and shot another one of the charging raiders. Standing up he kept running, though his face was contorted into an ugly wince.

 _Okay, keep going!_ She saw more of them coming over the hill, so she turned towards the old building that Miles had pointed out earlier: the one that the burned woman had come from. She just kept running and shooting wildly behind her, missing her targets. Once she reached the crumbling structure, she took cover behind one of the broken walls, expecting Miles to come around the corner next. But he wasn't there.

 _Shit! Where is he?_ She looked around the corner, but didn't see him anywhere in the plain they just crossed.

 _Did the raiders get him?_ No, that couldn't be it. At least she hoped it wasn't. The Courier seemed like he had been through too much to just go out to a pack of Fiends. That would be too anti-climactic in her mind.

 _No, this isn't a book or a movie. As far as you know, you're alone in this now._ She glanced around her environment. A fence enclosed a few mooing brahmin, but other than that, the deteriorated building still had enough walls to provide a small, enclosed environment; perfect for close-ranged combat. She slipped her pistol back into its holster and put on her power fist. _Bring it on._

"There you are, you lit-"

Before the raider could finish gloating about finding his prey, Veronica slugged him in his face with her mechanical fist, almost popping his head off of his shoulders. Just as he fell, two more raiders appeared. In several swift moments, she grounded them as well, just in time for three more to appear.

 _Geeze, how many of these guys are there?_ They all charged her at once and she managed to punch out the first one, but the other two slammed into her, sending all three of them through the weakening wall and into the adjacent brahmin pen. The lazy, two-headed cattle didn't seem to notice as their brawl continued. These two raiders were armed with baseball bats and unlike the last four raiders, they were deceptively fast and had good reflexes, dodging all of her punches, though they couldn't quite hit her either.

"This needs to end," Veronica muttered to herself as she lunged forward to clock one of the raiders. He side-stepped out of the way and Veronica punched one of the brahmin instead, deforming one of its heads on contact. The cow mooed one last time in agony before it collapsed. Veronica felt a twinge of guilt over killing the poor animal, but guilt was soon replaced by confusion, since the two raiders had stopped attacking her and instead, looked on in horror.

"What the hell did you just do!? You killed her!"

"What?" She didn't get why they were so afraid.

"You killed Queenie! Why couldn't it have been one of the others?"

"Who did WHAT!?" a deep voice roared in unadulterated rage. From behind one of the walls stepped another raider, though instead of wearing makeshift armor and a big horner helmet, this raider was decked out in metal armor, complete with spiked shoulder pads, and a metal welding mask. To make matters worse, he was carrying a flamethrower. Veronica felt her stomach flip at the sight of the newcomer. He was clearly the boss and possibly one of those most wanted raiders.

"Well you see, uh… Cook-Cook, she-" one of the raider's stammered, only to get cut off.

"I don't care! You're all gonna die tonight! Taste the heat!" Flames flew from the tip of his weapon, hitting the two raiders. Agonizing screams burst from their mouths as the fire consumed them. Trying not to feel sick from witnessing this gruesome event, Veronica stumbled into the fence, just dodging the fire, and climbed over.

"Awww, what's wrong sweetheart?" Cook-Cook cackled menacingly. "Am I too hot for you? Don't be shy! I- hey!"

Some of his underlings tried to restrain them. "Cook-Cook, you need to calm-"

"Shut up!" Cook-Cook roared, knocking them back before lighting them on fire next. Disturbingly, it was then when he started laughing at their demise. "You're next, sweetheart!" He aimed the flamethrower at Veronica and let loose another stream of flames, that time setting the dry grass on fire. Veronica managed to dodge that attack as well.

 _Too much open space. I got to hide!_ She ran back into the building through another doorway. Running back into the building didn't seem smart to her, but maybe then, she could try and catch the psychotic arsonist off guard. She didn't know how good of a shot he was, so running away in the clearing seemed like a poor idea as well.

 _Just have to sneak up behind him and-_

"SURPRISE!" The raider kicked through the broken wall that Veronica was hiding behind, his steel boot slamming against the back of her head. Her vision flickered for a moment before her face smashed against the broken floor.

 _Can't… think straight. Con… Concussion._ She tried to stand, but Cook-Cook drove his foot into her back, forcing her down again. She tried to push herself back up, but all those pushups she had done seemed to be worthless as the crazed raider kept pushing down with his boot, twisting it back and forth on her back to increase the pain.

"Zack!" she shouted desperately, but she was only answered with Cook-Cook's deranged laughter.

"Zaaack, Zaaack!" he mocked as he continued to press down on her spine. "Whoever you're calling for is dead, sweetheart, and you're next." He took his foot off her back and kicked her in the head. The kick wasn't at his full strength, and it was because he wanted to toy with her a little bit longer. With the tip of his boot, he flipped her onto her back. Veronica tried to focus, but her vision was swirling and her eyes kept drifting shut. When she forced them open, she found herself staring into the mouth of the Fiend leader's flamethrower.

 _I need to get up. If I can get one good punch in the face-_

"No, this is too easy and you look too tasty to cook just yet," Cook-Cook chortled, setting his flamethrower down. "Don't worry darling, Cook-Cook won't kill you just yet. First… we're gonna have some fun." He took off his welding mask to reveal an ugly, scarred face with a smile that could have benefited from a visit to the dentist. But his eyes were bloodshot and staring into her unfocused ones. "So if you play along, _maybe_ I'll give you a quick death, but Cook-Cook don't make any promises. How about it?"

"Go to hell," Veronica rasped with a sneer. _Just… just need to get to my feet. Why can't I move?_ She was desperately trying to struggle back to her feet, but she couldn't.

"Ooh hoo hoo! Fiesty!" he hollered with glee. "Cook-Cook likes!" He started to work at his belt, ready to drop his pants. "If you're gonna be that way, make sure you struggle. Cook-Cook likes that even more. Ho boy, we're gonna have a goo- AUGH! Sonova bitch!"

That last reaction followed the sound of tendons slicing. Cook-Cook fell to his knees and then onto his face, and standing behind him was the kind of figure that Veronica had seen in so many action movies on the old holotapes back home. Miles the courier had returned and he looked like a complete, visceral mess. His duster was missing and his shirt underneath was covered in blood and guts. His arms had several cuts across them and he was favoring his leg where he took the bullet. Serious as the moment was, he definitely looked like a badass from an old action movie. However, he still looked at Veronica with concern. All the while, Cook-Cook was busy trying to get to his feet, but his legs were cut just right so that he couldn't get off the ground.

"You alright, V?" He knelt down, took her hand, and gingerly pulled her back up, wincing a little as he put pressure on his bad leg.

"Yeah, I… I think I have a concussion." Even so, that seemed like so much less compared to what Miles must have endured. "Where were you?"

"V, I'm so sorry, I got swarmed out there. Lost my jacket in the scuffle and my gun jammed up. When my others ran dry, I didn't have time to reload them, so I took them out with this," he said, referencing his machete. "I'll get my duster later. You okay? What was he doing to you?"

"Exactly what you'd think he'd do… well, he hadn't gotten that far," Veronica answered as she tried to stand without his help. "Do you have a stimpack? My head... I think I'm concuss-"

"Here." He handed her one of his.

"Thanks, but what about you? You look-"

"I'll be fine. But right now…" He looked back down at Cook-Cook, who couldn't stand, but was crawling on his stomach to his flamethrower. Before he could even touch it, Miles stomped on his hand.

"Augh! The fuck, man?" Cook-Cook screamed in pain. "Just fucking end it, you shit-bag! Or are you afraid?"

"Oh, just like all the people who begged you to just end it for them, right?" Miles asked coldly. "I don't think so."

"Miles, just kill the dirtbag," Veronica asked, still clutching her head. The stimpack hadn't taken full effect yet.

"Okay, okay." He readied his machete to strike the man on the back of his neck, but he stopped himself. "No… no, you do it."

She was still dazed, but upon hearing that, Veronica's vision seemed to temporarily clear up. "Say what?"

He gave her an icy cold look that could chill a nuka-cola. "Veronica, this man was about to do unspeakable things to you. You kill him. That's an order."

 _He sounds so serious about it._ Where was Miles going with that? But since he had just saved her life, she decided not to argue. Arguing would only make her head hurt more. "Okay then. How?"

"However you want." He reached down and forced Cook-Cook into a standing position in a full nelson. The raider yelped out in pain again, but then began to sputter.

"You- My people will kill you, you fuckers. I'm a big, fucking deal around here, you-"

"Oh, I'm sure," Miles interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Nobody is going to miss you, you piece of garbage. I know what you've done to people and you make regular raiders look like church mice."

"Hey, asshole, I'm-"

"Shut up." He slammed his forehead into the back of Cook-Cook's head, shutting the man up for a few seconds. Veronica slipped her hand back into her power gauntlet.

"Okay, I'm ready," she said, analyzing the best place to hit him, since Miles was holding him up and she didn't want to hurt him on accident. "If I hit him-"

"Don't kill him just yet. Make him hurt." Again, the Courier was dead serious.

The raider's eyes widened with desperation. "Hey, what the fuck, man? I thought you were gonna…"

As Cook-Cook incoherently rambled, Veronica was trying to put together what was going on. Miles, although cynical and cold at times, seemed like a good guy. And she still believed that he was. But he wanted her to torture a man before killing him. Even though Cook-Cook deserved it, assuming the horror stories about him were true, asking her to do that was downright sadistic in a way... Yet simultaneously rewarding.

 _I shouldn't…_ But she wanted to. What he was going to do to her and what he had done to so many others… he did deserve it.

"So… just hit him anywhere?" she asked curiously, her voice soft. _I can't believe I'm even entertaining this sick idea._

"Anywhere but the face. There's a bounty on this guy, so we might as well collect it and they need to identify his face."

"Okay… but…" _Where would I even hit him then?_

But Cook-Cook just snickered. "You can't do it, can you? You can kill nameless fuckers, but you can't look me in the eye and do it? Girl, you had what was coming if you can't- OOIEGHH!"

Cook-Cook's high-pitched screech bounced off the walls of the old building and it was easy to see why. With a low uppercut, Veronica drove the power fist into the raider's groin at full force. The strike was followed was the sound of his pelvis shattering and a liquid-like popping sound as blood gushed from the deformity.

"YOU BITCH! I'LL-"

There was no more of that after Veronica followed her first strike up with a second punch to the heart, crushing his rib cage and forcing blood into his lungs. Then, Cook-Cook's limp body fell to the ground after Miles let him go. Her companion's eyes were wide, but he smirked nonetheless.

"Punch to the balls, huh? Definitely a fitting punishment." He looked down at Cook-Cook's bleeding crotch and let out a descending whistle. "Remind me never to piss you off."

"Yeah…" Disturbingly enough, she actually felt a lot better, as if the threat of being raped and killed had never occurred to begin with. That, and the stimpack was taking effect with her head, which also felt nice. She just hoped that there wouldn't be any trauma after that. "So… what now?"

"Well, we need to clean up and stop the bleeding. Unfortunately, I lost my pack with my other things out there," he said, pointing to the field where he fought against the other raiders. "So we have to go find it. After that, we do the usual: pick the bodies clean and stuff. They probably have some chems and old guns that will be worth something on the market. But before that…" He drew his machete again and looked down at Cook-Cook's corpse. "You won't be grossed out by the fact that I gotta take the head, right?"

Veronica gave him a look that said he was dense. "After what we went through just now? Hardly."

* * *

Dawn was coming and the walk to camp McCarran was coming to a close. After cleaning their wounds and picking the valuables off the dead raiders, they got back on the road with little interruption. The camp couldn't come soon enough. Miles's body ached and all the blood on his clothes and skin had dried. To make his load even heavier, he was carrying Cook-Cook's old flamethrower. It was actually in decent condition for a raider weapon and the Courier used it to torch a raider that tried to get the jump on them earlier, but it was too heavy to carry on long trips, so he knew he'd have to sell it at the camp if he could. On the flamer's end was Cook-Cook's head, wrapped up in the raider's shirt and suspended from the weapon's neck. He preferred that to carrying the head anywhere near him.

"Are you sure you have to sell that? It _is_ pretty cool. Nobody will mess with you carrying that." Veronica seemed to be in a better mood as they neared the end of their trek, but following the events of the evening, she was still a bit anxious. Compared to how most, however, she was taking it like a champ.

"I do love me some spoils of war," he admitted, a proud smile crossing his face. "But yeah, this thing is worth a lot, and it's too big to carry, making us high-priority targets for muggers and thieves… unless _you_ want to carry it."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" she snickered. "I don't think so. I'm not your pack mule." She sighed, shaking her head in mild disappointment. "Sell it. We'll need to so we can make the credit check to New Vegas."

"Yup. That and this severed head should bring in enough caps for us." _That really is gruesome, bringing them a decapitated head, but whatever pays the bills._

"So," Veronica began, warily, "before we get there and get some actual medical treatment and actual sleep, can I ask you something?"

The Courier raised an eyebrow. "The way I see it, you're gonna ask me no matter what. You've asked me just about everything else, so you might as well ask me what you're gonna ask me." Seriously, why was she even prefacing her question?

"Oh, well maybe if I'm such a predictable bore, I won't ask you," she teased him with false defensiveness.

Miles appreciated that she could still keep a sense of humor after the hell they went through the night before. _Tough, resilient chick. Those are good qualities to have out here._ "Just spit it out. You know you can't help it."

"Well… okay, fine." Her once humored voice seemed to shift to uneasiness. Something must have been bothering her. "It's about last night when we had… incapacitated Cook-Cook."

 _Incapacitated? That's a fancy word for it._ But he already took a guess at why she was concerned and he understood why she would be. "Look, V, I promise you that I'm not a psychopath. When I wanted you to not kill him right away… okay, that's sadistic, but come on, do you know how many women that guy has raped? He deserved it."

"No, that's not it. It felt good popping that asshole's junk. That sort of thing only happens out here, right? Got to experience the local flavor." Surprisingly, talking about the groin punch seemed to make her cheery again, but only for a brief second. "No, it's about when we killed him. When _I_ killed him. You could have easily killed him yourself when you came up behind him or when he was on the ground, but you didn't. You told me to do it and you got all serious about it like there was no other option. Why? I mean, you obviously were disgusted with the guy. Didn't you want to kill him?"

"Of course I did. The man was scum; a murdering rapist." He sounded upset just talking about it. "But no, you needed it more than I did."

The scribe looked genuinely confused as she tried putting the courier's logic together. "I'm sorry, I don't follow."

"Okay, how do I explain this…" _I wish I didn't have to have this conversation_. Of course, in hindsight, he realized that there was no way around it. "I didn't want you to be a victim."

Veronica still looked bewildered. "A victim? What do you mean?"

"I don't like victims." He immediately retracted that statement. "Wait no, that's not it. I pity victims, but I don't like working with them. And I sure as hell don't like being in that position. That's why I take care of my own shit and don't go around bitching about being shot in the head. There's nothing that I can do about the past, so I focus on the present and the future. It's how I've survived out here. I do what I have to do."

"And what does this have to do with me? Do you think I'm a victim?"

"Of course not, but I was afraid you could have been if… if…" _Shit, how do I say this?_

"If he had raped me?" Veronica asked bluntly in a flat voice.

He was relieved by her saying it first. "Well, now that that elephant in the room has been recognized, yes. But even if he didn't, I was afraid that if I came in and did all the dirty work, you could have ended up like that."

"Ended up like what, a victim?" The look she gave him reeked of skepticism. "I know you're a paranoid person, but this is kind of amazing. You saved me, but it's like you don't want to take credit for it. Why does having me killing Cook-Cook change anything in this scenario where you think I'd become a victim?"

"I don't know, empowerment?" he suggested. "Think about it: this man was about to do something awful to you, and not only did you kill him, but you punched him in the balls so hard that you shattered his pelvis. Doesn't that make you feel better knowing that you got to avenge not only yourself, but every other woman that that man has terrorized?"

She pondered that for a second. "Yes, that did make me feel better. But Zack, I don't need that kind of saving. I'm glad you stopped Cook-Cook when you did because I don't know if I could have been able to when he had me on the ground like that, but emotional saving? I'm a big girl. I can handle that myself."

"Okay, fine…" His thoughts drifted away for a moment as he prepared his next statement. "It's just that I've seen a lot of people, men and women, who were traumatized by stuff like this and I just didn't want it to happen to you if I could help it. I'm sorry though if what I did was an overstep of boundaries." He expected silence to follow, but he felt Veronica pat him on the shoulder with her free hand. "And I'm sorry we took the shortcut. It almost cost us everything. I can handle myself when I put myself in unnecessary danger, but letting it happen to you… that's not right."

"Hey now, don't apologize. I know you meant well… you know, in your own, twisted, psychotic sort of way," she laughed, although slightly uncomfortable as she did. "But hey, whatever works for you! And like you said, it's the past. Let's focus on the present and future."

"Gotcha. And thanks. Good to know that that's how you feel about me," Miles laughed. But his face hardened when he finally saw his destination: Camp McCarran. The NCR military base that was once an airport in the old world was one of the most fortified buildings he had seen in the Mojave thus far with high walls, corner towers, and guards posted throughout. Several of them took notice as he and Veronica came closer, but none of them responded right away. To Miles, that was definitely a good thing, since with all the blood spattered on their clothes, they didn't look much different from the raiders they just fought against.

"That's close enough, you two!" one of the two guards at the gate called out. "This is an NCR military base and you two definitely aren't NCR soldiers. What business do you have here?"

"My name is Zack Gilmore and this is my friend Veronica." He didn't use her last name because he didn't want to give away any information that the military might connect with the Brotherhood. "I'm a courier and I'm carrying delicate information from the Mojave Outpost for Colonel James Hsu. It's very urgent that I deliver it to him as soon as possible.

"Fine," the guard grunted, extending his hand. "Just give it to me and I'll see to it that he gets it."

"No, I don't think so," the Courier said, shaking his head. "I need to get paid, so I'm delivering this one myself. I didn't do this out of the goodness of my heart, you know."

"Well, you can't come in, so if you just give the letter to me-"

"Then what?" Veronica chimed in, showing the frustration that Miles was holding in. "We just stand out here and wait until your shift is over for the colonel to come out and pay us? That's not right. Besides, look at us!"

"You being covered in somebody else's blood doesn't change my mind," the soldier groaned, getting weary with their pushiness. "In fact, it's suspicious. Nobody who isn't NCR comes in unless it's an extreme circumstance."

That was the Courier's opening. "Extreme circumstances, huh? Excuse me…" He placed the flamethrower down, took the wrapped head off the end of the weapon's neck, unwrapped it, and held Cook-Cook's head up for the guards to see. "This extreme enough for you?"

Both men made disgusted protests, but the other guard recognized the head first. "Holy shit, is that… is that Cook-Cook? _You_ killed Cook-Cook?"

"Well, technically, _she_ did," Miles said, pulling Veronica in by the shoulder as if to say, 'good job', "but yes, this is his head, and yes, we want the bounty. Gonna let us in now?"

"Uh, yes, right away!" the first guard stammered. He picked his communication device from his belt and made a call. "This is Hillard. We got two civilians with a bounty to collect and a letter to deliver. They actually killed one of those raiders. Over."

"Copy. All clear, send them in. Over."

Just like that, the gate opened for them and Miles walked into the base with Cook-Cook's flamer in one hand and his head in the other.

"You enjoyed that too much," Veronica teased playfully.

"You have no idea." While he had no hatred for the NCR, getting to act like a big shot around their soldiers gave him an unusual amount of satisfaction.


	8. Chapter 8: The Cowboy

**Chapter 8: The Cowboy**

It was a good day. Of course, everything was good when one was high on Med-X.

After getting into Camp McCarran, both the Courier and the scribe were surrounded by soldiers who came to see the two travelers that took out Cook-Cook. As thanks for bringing back the rapist's head and for delivering Hsu's parcel, not only did they receive a hefty payment, but both Miles and Veronica were treated to free medical treatment for their wounds. Stimpacks could only heal so much and sometimes, one needed a skilled hand for healing. Miles found himself lying on a medical cot in one of the airport's smaller rooms, wearing a hospital gown while his clothes were being washed and the Med-X that he asked for was being IV dripped into his veins, little by little.

 _Today is a good day._

Colonel Hsu came by earlier to thank him for the parcel, pay him his caps, and try to rope him into another odd job. Apparently, he believed there was a Legion mole in the camp and he trusted Miles enough to look for him, given his past record with the NCR and the beheading of Cook-Cook. Miles told him he'd think about it, but he didn't want to get involved. The last thing he needed was to get involved in Legion affairs again.

 _We got our money. We got our meds. We got showers. Gonna get going as soon as we get cleared._

"Hey, you Zack?"

"Hmm?" The Courier was too busy enjoying his high that he didn't see the woman come in. _If she were a raider, I'd be dead._ His 10 mm was on the table next to him, but he couldn't use it properly in his state. He looked at the woman who entered the room and studied her features. She was a soldier, decked out in her NCR uniform and what not. She looked like she was probably his height and she had her hair buzzed pretty short. Her face though… she probably would have looked pretty if her face didn't look so tired and worn.

"I said, you Zack?" she asked again in a gruff tone. She definitely had a smoker's voice.

"Yeah. Who are you?"

"Corporal Betsy Erics of 1st Recon. You probably heard of us if you've been around." She seemed pretty proud of that fact and who could blame her? 1st Recon was a big deal among the NCR ranks. _The last thing you ever see,_ as the saying went.

"Yeah sure, I know. I knew a guy who was 1st Recon."

"Oh really? Who?" She didn't believe him, obviously.

"You wouldn't know him." That might not have been true, but he didn't want to talk about BOone. _Why did I even bring it up?_ "So… hey."

"Yeah, hey." She looked at her boots awkwardly. Something must have been wrong. "So… I was out when you got here. They tell me that you and your girlfriend killed Cook-Cook."

"Veronica's not my… yeah, we killed him. Well, she killed him, but I-"

"You helped," Betsy finished. "I just talked with her in the other room. Nice girl. She said you helped her out with him."

"Yeah…" He didn't know where the conversation was going, but he didn't care when he was getting high.

"Look… I'm a proud person. I don't normally say shit like this, but…" She continued staring at the floor. "Thanks for killing that bastard. After all he's done to people, to women… Glad somebody popped that fucker."

"No problem. Glad I made someone's day." _Why is she doing this?_ But then he understood, even through his hazy thinking. It was possible that she one of Cook-Cook's victims. If not her, maybe somebody she knew? _It must be tough for a strong chick like this to have to deal with that._ "There's something more to this, isn't there?" _Subtle._

"I don't want to talk about it." Yet she kept talking. "They keep telling me I should see one of them thought doctors; you know the type. They got one up in east of New Vegas, but I don't know."

 _Well, I guess I was right._ "Well, it's none of my business, but if the military was gonna pay for me to do that, I'd take it." Though honestly, he doubted he'd be able to talk to a complete stranger like that.

"Yeah, whatever. I ain't the kind of woman who'd normally do that sort of thing. I ain't soft. But maybe…" She stared off into space before she decided to change the subject. "So, your friend Veronica… if she ain't dating you, is she into women or something? Because she's cute. I wouldn't mind taking her over to Gomorrah and- "

"What, Veronica? No, I… I don't think so." Though honestly, he wouldn't know as he hadn't bothered asking her about her love life. Knowing her, it was probably something that the codex prevented her from discussing. But wow, was Betsy forward. "Um, if you don't mind me asking, are you allowed to be talking about that sort of thing? You know, you and other women? I mean, it doesn't bother me, but I know that the NCR-"

"What are they gonna do, send me home?" she laughed, emphasizing how silly that would be in a time where the NCR and the Legion were both at each other's throats. "They need my ass out here. They may not like it that I am who I am, but when the Legion starts their march, they won't give a damn."

"Yeah, I get it." He had already grown weary of Betsy's presence. He just wanted to relax and enjoy the rest of the Med-X, but of course, that wasn't going to happen when another person entered the room. That time, it was a man. He looked as if he was in his thirties and as one would expect from a typical NCR soldier, he looked stern and he walked as if there was a stick up his ass.

"Sir," Betsy addressed the newcomer, standing at attention.

"Corporal, you are needed outside, and I need to speak with this man alone," the soldier ordered.

"Yes sir, I was done here anyway." She walked out and left the two of them alone. Then, the soldier brought a chair next to Miles's bed and sat in it, looking down at him.

"We need to have a conversation," he began, keeping his stern tone. "I am Lieutenant Gorobets, and Colonel Hsu has put me in charge of keeping an eye on you and your friend while the two of you are here."

"Really? That seems unnecessary because we won't be here long. But I didn't sleep much, so can I-"

"You can sleep later." Not waiting for another excuse, Gorobets detached the Med-X IV bag from the tube that connected to the courier's arm.

"Hey, I'm not done with that. I need-"

"You only think you need it. Your friend didn't even want one, but you? Your need is in your head," the lieutenant continued, pointing at the Courier's head. "We checked your bag and found your little stash of Med-X. We figure that you're not using it for medical purposes because it was in a separate case, away from the rest of your medical supplies. I guess it only makes sense that a 'celebrity' such as yourself is just another junkie."

"Hey, don't patronize me. I use responsibly… and what do you mean 'celebrity'?" Last time he checked, he was trying to keep a low profile.

"You've made quite the name for yourself with the NCR soldiers around these parts, Mr. Gilmore," Gorobets continued. "Settling a dispute with the Khans, investigating Nipton, delivering the package for the Colonel, cleaning up the rest of the Powder Gangers at the NCRF…" He stroked his chin thoughtfully while looking upwards. "If it weren't for your drug habits, I'd push for you to get citizenship with the NCR and have you join our ranks. The army could use a man like you. You'd go far and be a hero to our nation in no time."

"I'm so flattered," Miles said facetiously, sitting up more and focusing. Truth be told, he doubted he'd want to join the NCR for multiple reasons, but that was not the focus of where the conversation would be going. And he was right

"But that's not why I'm here today," Gorobets continued. "No, we need to talk about a more _sensitive_ subject."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Your friend; the one who came in with you."

Though he didn't show it, he suddenly started to panic internally. They had to have known something if he was getting grilled about Veronica. "What about her?"

"You know, we don't normally let civilians into this base, Mr. Gilmore. You are the rare exception because you have brought us the head of one of the most hated bastards in the entire Mojave. But the fact that you brought _her_ here and thought that you could get away with it…" His stare doubled in intensity. "I know _what_ she is."

Miles blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"Mr. Gilmore, we know she's from the Brotherhood of Steel."

 _Keep a straight face._ "I have no idea what you are-"

"You're insulting my intelligence now," the lieutenant growled as his brow furrowed. "She uses a power fist, she wears scribe robes, her armor is brotherhood made, and she had a brotherhood dog tag packed deep within her supplies. So please, lie to me again and the punishment will not be pleasant."

Miles thought to himself on what his next move would be. The soldier had him trapped like a rat and he had no intention to struggle against the NCR, especially when he was practically unarmed and naked in their base. _Might as well come clean._ "She's with me, lieutenant, and I'm not Brotherhood. You don't have to worry about her-"

"You brought a Brotherhood of Steel member into our base," he interrupted coldly.

Miles tried again, knowing his efforts were fruitless. "She was the one that killed Cook-Cook. Doesn't that mean anything here?"

"You brought a Brotherhood of Steel member into our base," he repeated. "You thought you could just get away with something like that? What if something happened to my men? To my brothers in arms? I could never forgive myself for something like that. There is already the real possibility of a Legion mole being in this base. The last thing we need is another spy."

"We're not trying to get away with anything!" Miles growled. "I'm just a courier. Do you think I want to cross the NCR?"

"I don't know, you tell me. There are plenty of couriers working with the Legion. But as for your friend, why is she traveling with you?"

That legitimately tripped him up. "I… I don't know."

Gorobets was dumbfounded. "You don't know? You don't know why this Brotherhood girl is tagging along with you? Did you ever stop to think that she was waiting for a moment like this to infiltrate our stronghold?"

"I swear, that's not it." It dawned on Miles how bad of an idea it was for them to enter the airport, though given their injuries, they had little choice. All he wanted to do was deliver the package and the head and collect his bounty, but suddenly, he and V were wrapped up in an ugly mess. "I don't know why she's traveling with me. She says that she wanted to see a fresh perspective, but it's more than that. I think she's got issues with her people right now… I would too if I was working for a bunch of tech-hoarding assholes living by a black and white codex."

"Hmm, looks like we can agree on one thing." Gorobets still wasn't happy with this answer. "Why you would work with somebody from an organization that you are also ethically opposed to is beyond me. But regardless, you've still put us in danger by bringing her here, even if you do trust her to listen to you." The lieutenant stood up, took a step away from the bed and looked away. "Such a crime against us should be dealt with appropriately. I don't even have to take this up with Hsu. I can handle this myself."

"You're not going to punish me," Miles replied coolly, though that was a facade. While he believed that he wouldn't be outright punished, he could never know for sure. "The NCR knows what I've done for them. You think after this latest achievement of killing Cook-Cook that they'd be cool with you 'handling me yourself'? No, I don't think they would. Especially not the 1st Recon member that just left."

Gorobets turned to face him again, and Miles could see in the man's eyes that he knew he was right. "You are correct. I too am thankful that your friend and you took care of that menace. But if you want to leave without any problems, you're going to do me another favor."

"Another favor? If this is about the mole-"

"No, it's not that. I have other concerns to deal with," the lieutenant growled. "The Fiends have been pushing harder lately. They know that if they don't establish a stronger presence soon, we'll easily wipe them out after we push back the Legion. You killed Cook-Cook, which should significantly hurt their morale, but there are other high-profile Fiend leaders out there. This is where you come in."

"Oh, I know where this is going. You want me to kill them?" That was the last thing he wanted.

"Just one," the soldier clarified. "Asking for more would probably send you packing to take your chances with us later. Or you'd die trying. But one is reasonable. I don't care which Fiend you choose, but if you kill another one and bring me his or her head, you're off the hook. I'll even let you keep the bounty. Sounds good?"

"No, not really," the courier admitted sheepishly. "Us running into Cook-Cook and managing to kill off him and some of his men… that was dumb luck. I don't know if I can repeat that twice."

"Well, you'd better," Gorobets demanded sternly. "If you refuse, both you and your friend will be locked up here. And if you say that you will help us out with this task, but choose to run off, I'll make sure that you're on the next set of bounty notices. So-"

"So, I have no choice, hmm?" He already knew the answer. "We're in. You know, I hope you know that I'm going to take pride in the fact that I'll be doing what you and your soldiers have failed to do since arriving in this desert."

That line was meant to sting Gorobets, but he just smirked. It was the first time that he smiled since entering the room. "I don't care how it gets done, just make it happen. Otherwise, you and I are going to have a problem."

"Yeah, too late for that," the Courier snarked back with a groan. This whole scenario of being owned was not pleasant, but once again, he'd have to overcome the odds to make it another day.

* * *

"You know we could just run away right now, right?" Veronica needlessly reminded the Courier. The two of them were hiding out behind an old building, looking at the decrepit structure where their new target resided.

"And get a bounty on my head from the NCR? No thanks, I'm no fool. You realize that I don't have a secret, underground bunker to run to if things go sour, right?" He couldn't even believe Veronica was asking him this question.

"I know, but this plan… you could die, you know." She sounded concerned; more concerned than the Courier was letting on at least.

"Your confidence in me is overwhelming. Just be ready to punch these fuckers when they come tailing me." With that, he began his slow walk to the crumbling building.

The plan was so simple, but simultaneously so, so stupid. Basically, he was to approach the raider hangout, stealthily take out as many raiders as he could (or his target, if he was able), run like hell when they came chasing him, and then have Veronica ambush them from behind her cover when they got close. It was the best plan that they could come up with, given their limitation in supplies and the fact that it was two of them versus a dozen raiders, give or take, but Miles could see why the NCR didn't want to send what little troops they had to deal with it themselves.

 _Driver Nephi._ Another fiend leader, though not nearly as infamous as Cook-Cook. Not even 1st Recon could bring down the asshole who had managed to kill thirteen NCR soldiers with nothing but a driver iron. From what Miles had heard, the man was both fast and durable, as the few bullets that had hit him in past skirmishes failed to slow him down.

 _Veronica is right. This is suicide._

If 1st Recon and various other NCR soldiers couldn't stop the madman, how could he and one scribe be the ones to do the job? Still, he'd rather fight a bunch of stoned raiders than Violet's pack of dogs. Dogs were easy to kill, but they were faster than humans and if they got on a target, they were merciless in tearing them apart. At least raiders would take their time, creating many more windows of opportunity to fight back. On top of that, compared to the other Fiend leaders, Violet was supposedly downright insane.

 _I ain't having none of that. Cook-Cook was crazy enough._

The building didn't look much different from the other burned buildings in the surrounding area, but according to the map marker on his pip-boy, it was his destination. _Okay, gotta take out as many of them as I can before they see me. Less raiders equals less defense._ He crouched behind an old car and squinted out some targets. There were two raiders in view. If he could pull off a sneak attack, that would be preferable.

 _You're first_. He raised his silenced 10 mm and activated V.A.T.S. It would help his aim, but that wasn't guaranteed with a gun that wasn't made for sniping at a distance. His first target was a male, decked out in Fiend chic from his big horner helmet to his scrappy looking outer-armor that didn't fully cover his chest. He didn't fit the wanted poster image of Nephi, but he needed to go, so Miles he took aim and shot. The bullet went right through his skull, killing him instantly. Coming out of V.A.T.S. for a moment, Miles waited for any sound.

 _Nothing. Good. Nobody noticed. That must be some powerful drugs they're smoking to not hear that thump._

Once again, he took aim, that time at the female on guard, wearing a similar outfit as her male counterpart. After using V.A.T.S. again, he let another bullet fly, hitting its mark as well. However, he was not ready for what happened next. The woman he shot was on the fallen building's top floor, and when she fell, she fell off the back, crashing into what sounded like glass below.

 _Shit!_

"Hey! Who did that!?" A brief silence followed as the Courier held his breath. It was broken by the sound of maniacal laughter. "Looks like we got a dumbass trying to make a name for himself out here! Cover me!" The voice was loud, rough, and angry.

"Sounds like our guy," Miles assumed. That's when he ran as if a horde of Yao Gui was chasing him. But as he ran, he could hear the parade of raiders behind him, hooting and hollering at the sight of fresh meat. A brief glance behind his shoulder, and he estimated that there were about ten of them, all encircling who he assumed was Driver Nephi, though he couldn't see the target in question. Most of the raiders were carrying bats, crowbars, and old swords, but there were a few with guns, though their aim was poor. The Courier took a few blind shots as he faced forward, but if he hit any of them, they weren't slowed in the slightest.

 _And…. Now!_ As he passed the bridge, the raiders followed, not seeing Veronica leap from behind the blind spot, cracking one of the raider's skulls and knocking another one over.

"Easy now! Don't hit our mark in the face!" Miles reminded her. He had already drawn his machete and slashed out a girl's throat. _Ten-ish to go._ He wanted to use his SMG, but he was afraid he'd hit Veronica in the crossfire. Crossing the bare chest of another raider with the blade of his machete, his count was at four, while Veronica had just dropped her third raider. Things were going better than he expected… and then he saw the raider of the hour coming at him, swinging the golf club like a professional, just barely missing his face. The swing would have driven his lower jaw into his brain, had it have hit.

"YOU'RE DEAD!" Nephi wasn't as hideous as Cook-Cook, but he still looked pretty damn ugly. If it weren't for the golf club, the raider wouldn't have stood out from his fellows in the slightest.

"Not dead yet!" Miles was about to swing his machete, but the raider's reflexes were lightning quick, and he knocked the sword from the Courier's hands before his swing even began. Miles had enough speed in his own right to pull out one of his standard pistols and let several rounds loose into the raider's chest. Though the bullets stopped him for a moment, the raider was still standing, still swinging, and still laughing.

"What, that didn't kill him? Use V.A.T.S.!" Veronica was standing with her back to his as they found themselves surrounded by the rest of the raiders. The gunmen were down, but the rest of the lowlifes still had their melee weapons. In theory, the scenario shouldn't have been worse than what they faced the day before, but without his machete, he felt vulnerable, and he wasn't going to use his knives. They were a last resort, as he wasn't a knife fighter. The pistols would have to do. He had switched to his SMG, cringing.

"I don't know if I could hit them all with V.A.T.S.," he muttered, staring at the surrounding mob. "If I miss, the migraine is going to keep me from aiming straight. Not a good idea if I don't have cover." But he would have to. Finally, the raider closest to him let out a wild howl before raising his rusty sword, ready to swing.

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-haaaaah!"

Several red lasers shot through the attacking raider, the last one disintegrating him. Suddenly, the new attacker literally rolled into view. It stood on one wheel, had a large, blue, mechanical frame, and had a TV screen for a face, depicting a smiling cowboy.

"Victor?" The Courier just gaped. _How wildly convenient._

The robot didn't answer as it began to spray bullets at the raiders. Taken by surprise, a few of them charged at the securitron, only to be gunned down effortlessly. That gave Miles and Veronica their opening. The scribe brought down two more raiders and Miles gunned a few down with his SMG. Driver Nephi was coming at him again, but before he struck, Miles took a chance on the V.A.T.S., aimed right at the man's chest, and let an entire clip fly into his chest. By the time he was done, there was a hole in the Fiend leader's chest that he could see through. Finally, the raider was down. There was one minion left who began running away, but he didn't get far when one of Victor's lasers blasted his head right off his shoulders.

 _I don't even…_ Miles couldn't finish the thought as the V.A.T.S. headache ran through his head. It didn't last long, but when it was over, he felt Veronica's hand on his shoulder, supporting his standing.

"So, uh…" she was breathing heavily, "what just happened?"

"Well howdy, pardner!" the securitron greeted in an electronic-sounding, southern accent as it rolled up to the pair. "That was quite the scuffle you two got yerselves into. I reckon these parts are pretty dangerous with all these varmints scurrying about!"

"Yeah, um… Thanks, Victor." The Courier felt nothing but weirded out as he adjusted his senses. He should have been happy to be alive, and he was, but Victor's sudden reappearance made him feel uneasy.

"Wait, you know this robot?" Veronica asked, taken aback herself by the development, but before she could answer, the securitron started talking again.

"And who's this little lady right here? She sure is purdy!"

"Oh, uh, it's Veronica," he answered.

"Well Veronica, it's nice to meet ya," the securitron said, waving its mechanical hand. "You best keep an eye on ol' Zack here and make sure that nobody else shoots him in the head!"

"Hey, hold on a moment," Miles chimed in, finally having cleared his thoughts, "you just showed up in the middle of nowhere at the most convenient time and gunned down some raiders for us… have you been following me?"

"You know I enjoy rollin' around from time to time," the robot answered vaguely, cheer in his voice. "But you take care of yerselves, ya hear? Would be a damn shame if these hooligans got you when I wasn't around, yessir!" Not waiting for a goodbye, the securitron rolled away as if nothing had happened.

"Yeah, have a good day… I guess." Once the robot was off a long enough ways, Miles groaned. "Yeesh."

"So, that was weird," Veronica chuckled, trying to break the tension, but ultimately failing. "Who was that… that thing? He's been following you? Why?"

"Trust me, if I knew, I'd tell you," the Courier, replied, shaking his head. He knelt down and started doing a body search on the raider nearest to him. "His name is Victor. He's a securitron, like the ones from New Vegas, but he was out in Goodsprings for some reason."

"And you know him _how_?" Veronica asked as she kept watch, but she kept looking down at him. One raider done, he was on to the next.

"Well, he was in Goodsprings when I got shot. He actually was the one that dug me up after Checkers and company tried to end me." He examined the pistol of one of the fallen raiders. As he expected, the firearm was a poorly cared for piece of shit that would cost more to fix than buying a new gun completely, but he knew that somebody would buy it for the scraps and the few working parts it had left.

"Well, that was nice of him," Veronica commented. "But you didn't seem all that happy to see him."

"Well sure, but…" He moved to the next body. "Maybe I sound ungrateful. I appreciate that he did what he did, but ever since that day… I think he's been following me."

"Are you sure?" the scribe asked. "I could just be another lucky break. You seem to get a lot of those, honestly."

"Ha, you have no idea," he chuckled to himself. "You know, when Doc Mitchel brought me back from the dead, he had me try one of those old world vigor testers. Those things don't actually mean anything, but it said my Luck was 9 out of 10..." He snickered at the thought. "Maybe if it was a ten, I wouldn't be in all this shit to begin with." He switched to the next body.

"Anyway, I- Hello! Just found the hard stuff." He handed Veronica several vials of psycho that were not yet attached to needles. "Check that out, psycho. Do you know how much a junkie will pay for this stuff? Good find. Anyway…" He got back to looting. "Yeah, I think Victor's been following me. I saw that robot twice when passing through Novac, once a few hours before we met… and there was one night when I was camping out near an old gas station, I saw him. Well, I think I did. I couldn't tell, but I heard that wheel rolling and I think I saw that monitor glowing. I don't know, the whole thing is creepy as hell, and the cowboy gimmick doesn't help."

"What, you don't like cowboys?" Veronica teased, again, trying to alleviate the tense mood Miles was in, though she failed to help.

"I don't like stalker robots that think that they're cowboys," he corrected. "I don't know why that thing is following me. I guess I should be happy that it was here today, because if it hadn't, I don't know if we could have handled Driver Nephi and his friends as damage free as we did. I just hate not knowing what's going on. And I sure as hell hate being watched."

"Yeah, that sounds like you alright. But I don't blame you. It is pretty weird. But what can you even do about that?"

"Nothing. I could try to shut it down, but securitrons are interchangeable. A new one, with or without the victor persona could find me and follow me. I wish I knew its agenda." Finally, he reached Driver Nephi himself. As he expected, the man was loaded with chems.

"You think… maybe it's Mr. House?" Veronica asked. "I mean, securitrons are what they use in New Vegas, no? Maybe he's asked one of his robots to follow you?"

"I thought of that, but I don't think so. I was carrying that package to New Vegas for the Lucky 38 where House supposedly lives, but I don't have it now. Why would the robot follow me around if I don't have the package? Besides, it was only a big poker chip, so what's the big deal?" He groaned, ready to stand up and get away from all of those freshly dead bodies. "This is making my head hurt. Let's get this over with so we can collect our bounty." He picked up the raider leader's driver iron and tossed it to Veronica who clumsily caught it, not knowing he was going to throw it until it actually happened. "You want to hold onto that for me?"

"Uh, sure, but…" she held the golf club up, examining it in the sunlight. "We're keeping this one?"

"Sure, it's light enough to carry and it's definitely a good weapon. Personally, I prefer my machete, but maybe you'll like that one, even if you would rather punch stuff. It's a nice secondary weapon for close combat. I mean, if this guy killed a bunch of NCR soldiers with it, it must be good."

"Hmm… If you say so." A little smile emerged on her face as she held the club like a golfer would and in one, swift motion mimicked a golf swing. "Even if we don't use this in a real fight, maybe we can work on our golf swings?"

"Find some golf balls and I'm game," he chuckled, but remembering what he was doing and why he was doing it, that laughter ended quickly. "Where did my machete land?"

"Um, over there. Why do… oh…" Veronica remembered the ugly task ahead.

"Yup." After going to it and picking it up, he swallowed with a scowl as he looked down at the dead Nephi. "Time to pay the piper."

* * *

Normally, making money was one of the few things that brought a smile to Miles's face, but not that day. The NCR soldiers of Camp McCarran rallied with praise as Miles and Veronica returned with the head of a second Fiend leader, not 12 hours after they arrived with Cook-Cook's. What they had done was seen as miraculous, but behind closed doors, they were reminded by Lieutenant of why they were sent to do what they did.

 _"Remember, we'll be keeping an eye on you, so watch your step. You don't want to tread on the Bear."_

That was enough to boil the Courier's blood, but he said nothing. His anger continued resonating as he and Veronica left the base and started east toward the east Vegas outskirts after selling what they could and restocking their ammunition. The area they were crossing outside of Fiend territory was far less dangerous, but he was still cautious. " _I wouldn't be surprised if they sent a sniper to tail us,"_ he had said earlier.

"So… everything alright? You look like you could fry an egg on your cheeks," Veronica quipped, trying to humor him.

"Fuck the NCR," Miles growled, not even acknowledging her comment with a glance.

"Um… haha, okay, so no?" She was still trying to keep a cheery mood, but he didn't seem to care. "This is my fault, isn't it? If I never went into their base, they would have never-"

"Don't be ridiculous, you needed medical attention. Plus, you killed Cook-Cook. I was hoping that would count for something, considering all of the NCR soldiers he raped and killed." He groaned, shaking his head. "You know, I get why they were being cautious with you being a Broth-" he stopped himself, knowing that somebody could be following them. "Still, after we killed Cook-Cook, you'd think we'd get off with a warning, rather than being sent on a suicide mission. Of course, this is the NCR after all. Give them an inch and they take a mile."

"And yet you still do work for them," she pointed out.

"Okay, listen." He stopped walking, touching his head. On top of his stress headache, he felt the twitching in his eyes starting again, alongside the aching all over his body, the profuse sweating, and a touch of nausea; some of the little side effects of prolonged Med-X usage, though things could have been far worse if he was using a heavier dose. "I need the money, but unlike the Legion, I'm not so morally opposed to what the NCR is trying to do. There are a lot of good men and women in the NCR and trying to build a society out of this shitstorm we call a world is probably hard as hell. You look back at Tandi's presidential career and you see how much progress and good work they've done."

"I guess... Though I'm a bit biased," the Brotherhood member admitted. "So, what problem do you have with them, aside from what happened today?"

 _Time to rant,_ he thought to himself before he began. "Well, they're imperialistic bullies, their politicians are constantly bought out by the region's unbreakable monopolies that are actually running the show, accomplishing anything is a bureaucratic nightmare for them, they constantly stick their noses in their citizens' business, and worst of all…" he took a deep breath, before letting out in a sigh, "gambling is illegal, unless you go to the backroom. I can go on."

Veronica laughed at his last line. "Can't have that last one now, can't we?"

"Just wait, when they annex New Vegas, they'll make it legal just for the revenue. They're not too proud to change the rules." He almost chuckled from that tidbit. Almost.

Veronica cocked her head. "You said 'when'. You think they'll come out victorious with the Legion?"

"God, I hope so. As much as I dislike the NCR, the Legion is far worse. Even you can agree with that, right?"

"Yes, if I had to choose…" The scribe looked upset though. "I mean, there was a time when our people worked with the NCR, back when the Enclave was a thing. Still, do you know how many of our numbers died when fighting them? Helios-1 for example."

"Yes, I know." That's all he said, though. However, he knew that the Brotherhood wasn't always the victims in their skirmishes with the NCR among others. On top of that, as much as the NCR pissed him off, in his mind, the Brotherhood was far worse, though not as bad as the Legion. But he wasn't going to tell Veronica that, even though she knew by then that he was critical of the organization. There was no sense in creating conflict in their working relationship. Despite Veronica's current misgivings with the Brotherhood, he knew she might not take kindly to his opinions.

"So… again with the annex thing… you don't think Mr. House can hold New Vegas against the NCR? Is that why you think he forged the alliance with them?"

Miles scoffed. "Vegas may have securitrons and a small army of tribes, but there's no way they can hold up against the NCR or the Legion for that matter. Not against those numbers. Honestly, if they weren't fighting each other, I'm sure either the NCR or the Legion would have taken the city by now. It's just dumb luck that they happened upon each other when they did. Also… honestly, I don't think Mr. House is still alive."

"Really? What makes you say that?"

"Come on, have you heard the stories?" he asked. "Apparently, he was alive before the war. That was hundreds of years ago."

"Your point? Ghouls," she pointed out.

"Fair enough, but it's unlikely. Wouldn't somebody have seen him by now if he were a ghoul? The Mojave is probably one of the most ghoul-friendly places outside of the ghoul-specific settlements on this side of the country." He knew that ghouls were welcome among the NCR, but there was still rampant prejudice. "If he was a ghoul, he could have shown himself and people would listen."

"So what, you think a robot put New Vegas together?" She wasn't buying what he was selling at all. "I don't think there's AI that that's well-developed."

"Hey, a robot hired me to carry a package, so I don't know. I guess hiring a Courier is far easier for a robot than running a city. But whatever. I just hope the NCR just leaves me alone. I just want to get even with Checkers, go crazy in a casino, and get out before the Bear and the Bull kill each other."

"Yeah… Wonder what I'll be doing after that. I don't know if the Brotherhood will be safe here." Veronica stared off into space as she pondered her family's future.

"I'm sure you'll figure something out." He had nothing to offer her on that subject since things really didn't look all that bright or them. "You don't mind if I turn on the news, no?" He figured they were in safe enough territory to listen without being tracked down by raiders. When Veronica nodded, he flipped the radio on, just to catch the tail end of a song before Mr. New Vegas started up again. He did one of his feel-good introductions before diving headfirst into the news.

" _And now I got some news for all my fans,"_ the old man sounded off, though his tone suddenly grew more serious. " _I've got some sad news for our friends in the NCR. We just received word that the NCR encampment Camp Forlorn Hope has fallen to the Legion, who had made camp in the nearby town of Nelson. Details on how the Legion conquered the camp are unknown, but an anonymous source has told us that the NCR missed a critical caravan delivery of firearms and ammunition. This missed delivery cost the NCR what is considered a strategic location in their battles against the Legion. For NCR soldiers, it may be best to avoid this location. The view's a lot nicer when you're not hanging from a cross. In other news…"_

"Wow, that's horrible," Veronica sighed over the next, less-important news report. "What do you think happened?"

"Does it matter?" Miles asked, pessimism reigning in his voice. "Forlorn Hope was supposed to be an important military checkpoint, but now that it's fallen…" The Legion was growing and their presence had just gotten even stronger.

"Still, they said something about a missed delivery. What does that mean?"

"It could mean a lot of things. Raiders, deathclaws, dehydration, sick brahmin, Legion scouts: anything that stops a caravan from getting to where it needs to be." He looked up at the sky, which took on a rosy hue. It would be time to find a place to sleep soon. "If you ask me, they brought it upon themselves. The fact that they had to rely on that one delivery to hold off the Legion shows a certain level of poor planning."

"Yes, well… It still scares me. Again, I don't like the NCR, but the Legion-"

"Far worse, I know." He pointed towards a boarded-up gas station. "Let's make camp over there. Doesn't look like it's being used by anybody."

"Fine by me. You feel up for sparring again tonight?" Veronica asked, forcing a smile to lighten the mood. "I feel like kicking your ass again."

Hmph, we'll see about that," he replied, finally smiling a little bit. Still, the news he had just heard over the radio concerned him much more than he let on. He wasn't about to tell Veronica why, however. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to.


	9. Chapter 9: A Guilty Conscious

**Chapter 9: A Guilty Conscious**

 _Furious and frustrated, the Courier wiped away the dirt that had clotted on the sleeves of his duster. In the distance, he could see the one Legion scout who managed to escape, clamoring over the hill to the east, probably heading back to where his fellows were likely to be camping out. Unclenching his teeth for a moment, he glared at his companion and screamed, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"_

" _They were Legion, so I killed them. They all should be put down like dogs. Even you agreed with me on that," the other man stated coldly. The other man, who was tall, well, built, and had a buzzed haircut was casually cleaning his rifle as if nothing critical had just occurred. Unlike Miles, he wasn't physically engaged by the Legion forces that he had attacked, so his leather armor was unscathed and his red beret and sunglasses remained untouched. Once he was done with his cleaning, he knelt down next to the nearest dead legionnaire, took out his hunting knife, and began to cut at the man's ear. What for? Some sort of trophy? For NCR payment? The Courier was too angry to care._

" _Yes, I said that, but that doesn't mean I want to fight them! I'm a courier, not a soldier! I'd like to make it to thirty, you know?"_

" _Maybe you've forgotten," the man continued, his tone still dull and bored, "the Legion enslaved my wife. And now that I'm unrestrained by the NCR, I'm going to hunt them all down until I blow Caesar's head right off of his fucking shoulders."_

" _Well, maybe you should have told me this BEFORE you decided to shoot at them and drag me into a firefight with the most dangerous tribe in the wasteland! That last guy got away! He's going to tell his superiors and the next thing you know, they'll be after us! Maybe you don't care about throwing your life away, but I'd rather not end up strung up on a cross!"_

" _You know, I thought you wouldn't be such a coward," the man said, his voice empty and calm. "You have no problem searching and getting revenge on the man that shot you in the head, but when it comes to my revenge-"_

" _That's because I'm not going to go in shooting up the place like I'm on psycho! In a city full or tribals and armed robots, that would be idiotic!_ _Your idea of revenge is suicide!" the Courier retorted. He was about ready to punch the guy in the face, though considering how coolly the man was taking everything, he doubted he'd even feel it. "You want to fight the Legion like this, just being a one-man killing machine? One man can't stop the Legion! They'll catch you eventually, no matter how good of a shot you are; you have to realize that. Do you think that that's the best way to go about it? To just keep killing them until they get you? They will get you eventually! You know that, right?"_

 _The sniper just stared at him blankly for a moment before lowering his gun and sighing. "Well then, I guess I'll send as many of them to Hell as I can."_

" _Okay, you're fucking crazy. I don't want anything to do with the Legion and I don't want anything to do with you. Enjoy your commando wet dream, 'cause I'm out."_

 _The man raised an eyebrow. "You're leaving? You know, after what you said in Nipton, I assumed-"_

" _You assumed wrong. If you want to get hung up on a cross, I won't stop you, but count me out."_

 _For a moment, the man said nothing. He stood there staring at the Courier before picking up his pack, securing it to his back, and facing east. "Then good luck with your petty revenge quest, Zack. I'm going to do something that matters. I'm going to make them bleed out." And just like that, the man walked away, heading east without fear to search for whatever he was looking for. By the sounds of it, it was more headshots._

" _Jesus…" Once again, the Courier stood alone in the Mojave. In a matter of ten minutes, he got into a surprise battle with the Legion, almost got killed, fought with his traveling companion, and split from the man. After the whirlwind of events they had been through in the past few days, the separation seemed so quick and unsatisfactory. But he was left with another problem. On top of his everything else he had to deal with, he knew that the Legion would be coming for him. If that one scout that got away made it to camp, they'd know his face. They'd come for him, beat him, torture him, and then hang him out to dry on a cross. Or if he was lucky, they'd kill him right away, but he wouldn't accept that._

" _I need to fix this." But he knew the solution would be messy._

* * *

Miles finally had some time to himself to sit and think. After combat practice, the Courier volunteered to take the first watch. Veronica offered to take it instead, saying that he looked tired, but Miles refused. " _It's the gentleman's thing to do_ ," he insisted, though really, he just wanted to get his fix. He sat outside the little gas station with a small fire burning to keep him warm during the cold, desert night, and his pip-boy radio playing softly. The country song, _Stars of the Midnight Range_ , was playing, and although it didn't match his taste in music, it was nice to hear on that quiet night.

Normally, he would have hid out in the gas station with Veronica and watch from one of the cracks in the boarded up windows, but the inside was very cramped and he felt safe enough outside of Fiend territory to camp out. That, and he wanted to hear the news about any other activities in the Mojave after what happened at Camp Forlorn Hope. Even so, his nerves were getting to him, so he kept his SMG in hand as he stared into the dark distance. Med-X would have helped, relaxing his tension, but he was going to take it when he was _that_ paranoid. Every bump in the night that he heard made him jumpy. Raiders, animals, NCR mercenaries sent to silence him for good, if Gorobets changed his mind: he was wide-eyed as he continually scanned what his vision was allowed. The stars, the moon, and the lights from New Vegas gave him some clarity, but not enough to see more than twenty feet away.

 _"Howdy folks, it's Mr. New Vegas, and I have a good feeling about all of you listening."_

 _Well, you're the only one._ Still, he appreciated the thought, even if it was just a comfort line for the listeners in general.

" _I got some good news tonight in New Vegas, so let me adjust my news reading glasses… for those of you who were let down by the news of Camp Forlorn Hope earlier today, we've just received some good news to balance it out. As it turns out, a couple of mercenaries brought in the heads of both Cook-Cook and Driver Nephi, two of the Fiend leaders residing in the ruins of Old Vegas. These decapitations were received with much praise, and we can all learn from this that with a little bit of hard work and perseverance, it's easy to get ahead, if not two, in life. Also in the news…"_

"Hmm..." He might have laughed at the lame joke if he were in a better mood.

"Sounds like you've been busy, Courier."

That voice gave Miles the sensation equivalent to jumping out of his skin. He looked up to see a man in a red hood and bronze armor plating looking down at him with a cold expression. The man looked like he was in his early to mid-thirties and he had one of those plasma spears that the Courier had heard about but had never seen, though the spear wasn't pointed at him. The man was clearly Legion and he had appeared out of nowhere. Legion soldiers were good at that shit, even without stealthboys.

Panicked, Miles snapped his SMG into position, aiming it right at the man who looked down upon him, but he heard more footsteps. A turn of his head revealed a half-dozen other Legion soldiers.

"I'd put that down if I were you. You couldn't stop all of us even if we let you shoot first." It was the vexillarius who spoke. He carried the Legion's flag on his back, but surprisingly, instead of a coyote cap like what he had seen Vulpes wear, this man donned the head and skin of a Yao Gui. Surrounded by legionnaires in real armor, masks with feathers sprouting from the top, and weapons ranging from hunting rifles to massive machetes, Miles knew that the group who had found him was no ordinary Legion exploring party, as their decanus was with them. They were after something: probably blood.

"If I put down this gun, how do I know you won't kill me or drag me to your camp for whatever godforsaken reason?" He'd rather go down swinging if he had no choice. The man, the decanus, who had first spoken to him laughed as he stepped around into the firelight.

"Boy, we've been tracking you. If we wanted to do either of those things, we would have done it by now, rather than appearing here as we have. We just want to speak with you. Is that so surprising, considering your affiliation with us?"

"I am _not_ affiliated with you." Even so, the Courier placed his gun on the ground in front of him. The decanus nodded in approval at the Courier's disarming.

"Good. Good. Those foolish profligates from the west would have shot at us without regard for their lives. You are clearly more intelligent," the decanus continued.

"Just what is it that you want? I haven't done-"

"Hold your tongue, or I shall cut it from your mouth, Gilmore. You will speak when we wish it," the vexillarius cut in forcefully. He stepped forward, glaring down at the Courier with contempt. "You know why we are here. Where is he?"

Miles tilted his head. "Who?"

"The profligate, Craig Boone" the decanus clarified. "Since your supposed departure from this man, he has killed nearly fifty legionnaires; each one shot through the head."

 _Boone._ There was a name Miles wished he didn't have to hear again. _I thought I was done with this._ "How do you know it was him? He's not the only man with a gun in the Mojave."

"Ears," the decanus responded coolly. "It has become his mark. He takes an ear from every man he kills. He wants us to know that he's out there, killing our men. He's trying to send a message." His frown deepened. "Unfortunately, he has been hard to track. He never stays in one place long enough to be discovered, so we've found fallen legionnaires from our encampments in the east to as far out west as the ruins of the old world. You, on the other hand, have been far easier to track. So Vulpes Inculta, leader of the Frumentarii, demanded that we find and question you."

"He should know that I wouldn't know. I haven't seen Boone in…" He counted the days for a second. "Two weeks? Yeah, that sounds about right. I don't know."

"But you do, don't you?" the decanus challenged. "This man here," he said, pointing to the legionnaire among the crowd. "The two recruits that were with him were shot through the head and their ears were taken. He managed to escape. However, after passing this news to me, a party was sent to retrieve the bodies. That's when they saw you and a young woman in robes inspecting them; touching them." He smirked. "You know that the cost of a dissolute that touches a corpse of a Legion soldier is his hands, correct?"

"But you didn't come for my hands… didn't you?" Miles said this with a mix of caution, knowing that they very well could take his hands that very night. However, he tried to exude courage. While he knew that being too prideful was dangerous, he also knew that the Legion had no respect for the weak. He had to find a balance.

"No. One of the scouts recognized you from your visit to Nelson. He knew that Vulpes would be upset if you were harmed. He views you as a tool, you see. An extension of himself. And you-"

"Shut your fucking mouth." He didn't shout it, but said it with the most disgust, teeth gritted and his hunting knife that he had drawn from his side clenched in his fist as he stood up, right in the decanus's face. The man did not flinch and why would he? He knew that Miles wouldn't attack him when he was surrounded by a six other Legion soldiers. Even so, the sudden burst was enough to draw the aim of every gun, machete, and spear. But decanus man only laughed.

"Mmm, _there's_ the Courier they speak of. The one who's fearless. Not some sniveling little boy pumping himself with Med-X."

"I said shut the fuck up," the Courier hissed. "I am not his tool. I am not the Legion's tool."

"Yet it is because of you that the profligates at Forlorn Hope have fallen," the decanus reminded him, his smile twisting further. "Surely, you know this by now."

"I did what I had to do. I paid my debts, and I was told that I would be left alone! So-"

"Until Craig Boone is hanging from a cross, you will know no such peace, Courier."

Miles stepped back from the man towards the wall of the gas station, knife still clenched in hand. Not that it mattered. Even if he could kneel down to grab his gun, it wouldn't matter. "I don't know where he is. If I had to guess, he's probably at some sort of choke point on one of your routes. You know your route better than I do, so you tell me."

"Not good enough." The leader's grip on his spear tightened. "Nothing that we can't-"

The gas station door swung open. "Hey Zack, are you talking to your…" Veronica's voice trailed off once she saw the seven Legionnaires surrounding them. "Shit…" Somehow, her face went even more pale. "Uh, Zack-"

"V, I need you to stay calm and don't move-" the Courier said through gritted teeth.

"Zack, what's going on? Why are they here? Why-"

"V, shut up. Just please, shut up."

"Ah, so this is the robed woman. She is quite pale. A rarity in these parts." The decanus stepped forward and brought the tip of his spear right to her throat without touching it. Veronica gasped lightly, pressing herself against the wall as if that could push herself farther away from the blade. "Now, you tell me-"

"Watch yourself, skirt," Miles warned. "If you hurt her-"

"I _will_ if you speak out of turn again," the decanus growled. At that, the rest of the soldiers moved in even closer and the vexillarius drew his machete, holding it close to Miles's face. The Courier turned his head to Veronica to see her petrified expression. Even a skilled combatant like herself knew that fighting back would yield fruitless results. Even if she was wearing her power gauntlet, she was pinned.

"Lie to me and I'll kill you within the second," the decanus explained. "You have traveled with this courier for how many long?"

Her breathing was getting heavier as she looked over to Miles, fear showing through. She looked back at the Vexillarius, gulped, and answered, "f-five days… It's been five days now."

"Mhmm, good. Good girl. Now tell me," he continued, "during this time, did you ever encounter a former NCR sharpshooter named Craig Boone? Tall, well-built, Caucasian, uses a sniper rifle, always wears a red beret."

For a moment, the fear turned to confusion as she glanced around, namely at Miles, hoping he could somehow save her from this. "We were at an NCR base today, b-but he wasn't there. Otherwise, nobody of that d-description."

"Hmph," the decanus grunted. "Have you ever heard the Courier speak of this man?"

"Once, I think," she answered. Her body was frozen from the excessive adrenaline rush. "When we found those dead Legion scouts, he mentioned the name after finding that their ears were cut off."

"Yes, and what did he say about it?" he asked, prodding for more.

"He didn't say much. Something about how he was a psychopath. That's it, right?" Her eyes turned back to him, but the cold Vexillarius called her attention back.

"No, don't look at him, girl. Look at me." He just barely tapped the tip of his spear against her throat, just strong enough to draw a single drop of blood. "You say that you've never met Craig Boone, nor has the Courier talked of him. But was there any point in time within the past two days where Zachary left you for an extended period of time? Maybe to look for his friend?"

She had to think about it for a split second, but she shook her head slightly. "No. The only time was when we were both being medically treated this morning, but he was in the next room over and-"

"Fine." He pulled the spear away from Veronica and stepped away, looking back at Miles. "It appears your friend has nothing-"

"Gallus, how can you be sure she isn't lying?" the vexillarius questioned indignantly. "How do we know they hadn't prepared for what you would ask? How-"

"She is not," the decanus stated. "Women have weak constitutions. They'll crumble under the slightest pressure."

"Hey!" Veronica seemed angered by the sexist remark, but if Miles could tell her that it wasn't the time, he would have. "I could have lied if I-"

"Enough!" The decanus's anger had risen. Turning back to the Courier, his voice turned to a growl. "Now listen to me, Courier Zachary Gilmore: you say that your debt has been paid, but in the end, whether you choose to admit it or not, you shall always be indebted to Caesar for saving this world from itself. Until the next time you are needed, you are free to continue on your way. But remember who you are. Remember who we are." Slowly and silently, they all backed into the darkness as quickly as they had arrived.

Just like that, they were alone again. Miles turned to Veronica who was just staring into the black, her eyes still filled with paranoia and confusion. Of course, she didn't know what had just happened, and her body was as stiff as a board.

Miles touched her shoulder. "Veronica, let me-"

She decked him. Her rigid body broke and in one lightning-fast move, her fist smashed into his nose. None of his combat training with her could have prepared him for that.

"You want to tell me what the hell that was all about?!" she roared, her pale face now fiery and flushed.

"Veronica, we can't-" He murmured, trying to talk through the hands he clamped over his face.

"They said you were indebted to them! What does that mean?! Start talking NOW!"

"Veronica!" He took his hands from his face, stood up, and glared. "We can't talk about this right now. Those legionnaires couldn't have gotten that far," he hissed in a low whisper. "If they're still listening-"

"Holy crap, I broke your nose." The rage that filled her had suddenly drained and she wore a concerned expression instead. "Are you-"

"Okay? Yeah, I deserved that." Holding a sleeve to his nose, he tried to stop the blood. _I just cleaned this too._

"Zack, I'm sorry, but we need to talk. If not now, in the morning when we can see."

"Fine, I owe that much. I shouldn't have withheld that. Get me a stimpack?"

"On it." Veronica went back into the gas station and when she returned, they were left with the ugly task of snapping the Courier's nose back in place.

 _Here it goes. 1, 2…_

The obscenities that were screamed were heard for miles.

* * *

The next morning was filled with awkward silences as neither the courier nor the scribe knew what to say. Miles was still convinced that there may have been Legion spies around their location and he wanted to wait to talk about what was going on. So in silence, they ate, exercised, and packed up.

Once outside, Miles did a sweep to see if there were any Legion spies. The effort was futile, as even he knew that they could probably evade him. However, if they were around, they knew that they would have to be careful not to get spotted. He decided that it would be safe to talk about what had happened, but quietly, and with him constantly looking around for anybody that might be tailing him.

Veronica listened to the story of how Boone had opened fire on a party of Legion soldiers and scouts, dragging him into a fight that he didn't want to be a part of. Ever since, the Legion had been in the back of his mind and there was little he could do other than try to play their game.

"That's… unfortunate," Veronica said in response to his story. As scary as the Legion was, she had not known the fear of the Legion until that soldier had a spear to her throat. For Miles, it must have been much worse. "Why didn't you tell me anything about this before? You told me a lot of other stuff about yourself."

"I barely told you anything about _this_ for a reason," he replied, still glancing around for spies. "Besides, telling people that the Legion has been keeping tabs on you isn't exactly a good way of garnering trust.

"I think I could have handled it. If you can accept me being Brotherhood, I can-"

"Shhh! Not so loud," he hushed her, stopping to glance around.

 _So paranoid. Hope he'll tell me more._ "Well, I can accept it. So would you mind telling me more? I'd feel more comfortable if you did."

"After last night, I agree. Ask me anything… anything about the Legion issue, that is."

 _Oh crap, I really wanted to use that technicality._ "Okay, so who is Craig Boone?"

"Okay, that one's easy." Another double-take and he began. "Boone is- no, _was_ an NCR soldier; 1st Recon sharpshooter to be exact. You think I'm a good shot, he's better than me, even without the V.A.T.S. He was on tour in the Mojave, but when his tour ended, he decided to call it quits. Something…" He touched his chin. "Something happened. I'm not sure why he left, but he did. He got married and settled down in Novac where he and a buddy of his worked guard duty. He had married some woman in New Vegas, but she… one of the townspeople sold her and her unborn child to the Legion."

 _Jesus…_ But instead of voicing that thought, she wanted to hear more. "What happened?"

"I arrived in Novac, penniless. I got hired to do some dirty work by one of the town's officials in investigating the REPCONN test site. Ghouls kept flooding in from up there and they wanted me to see what was up. But I bumped into Boone that day as well. He knew I was a drifter, so he asked me to meet him that night during his shift."

"And you did?" Veronica asked, already knowing the answer.

"He knew somebody in town had sold his wife and child, and he said he knows that they were both dead. I don't know how he knows, but he does, so he says. He wanted me to find out who it was. He said he would have done it himself, but he believed that if whoever was responsible was watching him. So that night, I did a little bit of snooping and I found out that the lady who rented out motel rooms was responsible; kept the transaction papers in her safe. I tricked her into walking out in front of that old dinosaur and he sniped her. Just like that."

"Wait, hold on," Veronica cut in. She wanted to understand everything she had just heard, trying to piece together the eternal puzzle that was the Courier. "You helped him kill a woman? I mean, not like a raider or anything, but a townswoman? That didn't bother you? Even if you think she deserved it, don't you-"

"No," he answered curtly. "You want to know the truth? If somebody were to sell someone I cared about into slavery and that lead to their death, I'd want them dead too. You don't have to agree with me on the morality of that, but-"

"No, no, I get it." She thought of her parents and she completely understood. "Didn't you two worry about getting caught?"

"Me, no. I didn't shoot the bullet. I may have helped, but I didn't do it and nobody could prove that. Boone, however, he was a respected member of their community. Novac isn't under NCR's thumb yet, but people respect a 1st Recon guy. Nobody is going to think that he did it."

"And… what did you mean by 'the dinosaur'? You brought her in front of a dinosaur?" Dumb as it sounded, that part of the story stuck out to her.

"You've never been to Novac? There's a big ass dinosaur building there in front of the motel. It was probably a tourist thi- Ugh, forget the dinosaur," he groaned, sounding somewhat annoyed that she bothered to want _that_ detail clarified. "Point is, after that, he said that he wanted to get out of that town. Can't blame him on that. He said something about killing Legion soldiers, but I didn't think he'd seriously do it like some sort of bloodthirsty commando. We should have gone our separate ways then, but I asked him if he wanted to come along with me on the REPCONN job. He did, and we cleared out those nightkin and feral ghouls. Afterwards, we helped the ghoul cult that was living there build their rockets and fly off-"

"Wait, _you_ did that?" Her eyes lit up and a smile that had been gone for the greater part of the day. "I saw that! I mean, I saw those rockets flying north. Nobody back home had any idea what that was about."

"Yeah, that was us. Those ghouls were trying to make it to the 'Promised Land' or something. Honestly, those rockets probably crashed, but whatever makes them happy, I guess," he said with a shrug. "But yeah, when we were done with that, we picked up or pay, got the info we needed on where the Khans were, and we started heading north… and pretty much the moment we left Novac, Boone decided that he wanted to get us killed. Does that clear things up?"

"Okay, well…" Another awkward question was on her mind. "Between then and the time we met… they said something about paying a debt. What was that all about?"

"What do you think?"

Veronica sensed a bit of defensiveness in his voice. Obviously, it was a sensitive subject for him, so carefully in a calm voice, she tried to figure it out. "Okay, well, you were there when Boone attacked them. I assume you shot at them too, right?"

"Yes," he answered as if he was in a trance. "It was either us or them once Boone did that."

"So that was the debt you had to pay for? The fact that you killed Legion soldiers?" It was an easy conclusion to come to, but she was easily working her way to the truth that she wanted.

"Pretty much."

She could see it in his eyes. Miles knew what was coming next.

"So, what did you do for the Legion so that they wouldn't kill you?" The question she wanted to know from the get-go had finally been asked.

"V, what I tell you… you promise you're not going to judge me too harshly? What I did… I'm not proud of it. I just _really_ didn't want to get crucified."

 _What could he have done that was so bad?_ "Of course. Miles, again, if you can accept me as a Brotherhood member, I can-"

"Thanks, but don't call me that," he reminded her in a cold interruption. "And you won't tell anybody about this? And I mean nobody at all can know. If the NCR-"

"Of course! Why would I even want to tell them? Come on, you know me better than that."

"Alright, fine." He sighed. "Well, it happened like this…"

* * *

 _If there were any NCR soldiers hiding in the mountains, they wouldn't recognize him or be able to give an accurate description of what he looked like. The courier wore a brown colored duster instead of his typical gray one, thick brimmed sunglasses, and a ball cap that he tucked his hair into. The duster didn't fit right, but he had bought it for a few caps and he planned on ditching it as soon as he was done._

 _Nelson looked just as he expected it to. The little, once NCR controlled town looked to be in rough shape with building damage and the like. Little fires burned within the spaces of the buildings and Legion soldiers were scattered from what he saw. Some were patrolling, others were exercising and training, and a few were chatting with each other. But all of them noticed his arrival. Seeing a non-legion individual who wasn't a trader bearing the mark of the Legion was unusual. He made sure not to show fear, despite knowing that this gamble could be one of the riskiest ones he ever took. It was either roll the dice and possibly die doing so or do anything else and get killed for sure. When he saw three NCR soldiers hanging up on the crosses in the center of the encampment, his inner fear was fed further._

" _Halt!"_

 _He did as he was told, holding his hands up in the air as several Legion soldiers surrounded him. Though they accepted his "surrender", without warning, they patted him down, pulling out every exposed and hidden weapon he had available. Never had he been subject to such a thorough pat down, even in the casinos. One by one, his weapons were dropped at their feet. Once they were done, they stood back, holding their machetes in case he tried to go at them with his fists. No, he wasn't that stupid._

" _What business do you have here, outsider? You are no trader, so take your weapons and-"_

" _Who is your decanus?" Miles asked. "Is he here? I would like to speak with him."_

 _The soldier who addressed him raised an eyebrow at the question. He was so surprised that he didn't even get upset that Miles had interrupted him. "Interesting… many of the dissolute don't know our ranks. Our decanus is called Dead Sea, but he is elsewhere. Even if he was here, he wouldn't waste his time speaking with the likes of you. So again, take your weapons and leave this place, lest you wish to hang from the cross like the profligates." He pointed to the NCR soldiers that the Courier had spotted already._

" _Well, who can I-"_

" _Hey! Don't let him leave!" A low-ranking scout, who unlike the more veteran soldiers, was wearing old sports equipment instead of legitimate armor, ran up to the group. "I know this man! He was with that NCR sharpshooter that murdered the party I was with! He killed one of our men!"_

" _Hmm… and here he is." The interrogating legionnaire stepped forward, inches from Miles's face. The other two inched closer as well. "And you thought it was wise to walk right into our camp? Tell me, is what this scout said true?"_

 _He knew what he had to say. He planned to say it from the beginning, after all. "Yes. I came to-"_

" _Take him." On the legionnaire's command, the other two soldiers took Miles by the arms._

" _No, wait, I-"He was silenced by a punch to the stomach._

" _It doesn't matter if you came here on your own volition or not," the veteran continued stoically. "The punishment for killing a Legion soldier is death. It turns out you will be joining the profligates after all."_

" _NO! I'm here to-"_

" _Stay where you stand!" a new voice ordered. It had been some time since the Courier had heard that voice, but the new sound was enough to send goosebumps all throughout his body._

" _Vulpes." The interrogator stopped and turned his attention to his superior. Sure enough, the leader of the frumentarii stepped forward. While he still wore a superior set of metal armor, he no longer dawned the coyote hood, and his white, wispy-haired man still carried an aura of coldness about him. His flashing gray eyes were still piercing enough to break the metaphorical steel that the Courier kept surrounding his constitution._

" _I will deal with this one personally. Trust me when I say that he will not be difficult."_

" _Vulpes," the soldier said, "with all due respect, he killed-"_

" _Yes, I heard him." The older man motioned for them to let go of the Courier and with slight annoyance, they followed his command. The men stepped back and allowed Vulpes to have his space with his prey. "You are either very brave or very stupid, coming here. Most guilty of this crime would have fled far away from here if they could... Not that it would have mattered."_

" _Well you know I'm not like them," Miles replied. Of course, Vulpes remembered that. "I'm smart enough to know that I can't outrun the Legion."_

"Yes _," he replied. "You are smart…" He snickered cruelly. "I already know why you are here. You were with Craig Boone. We know who he is. He makes his presence well known now, killing men of the Legion and taking their ears, like he wants to send us a message. A futile attempt. He is but a minor nuisance at best to Caesar's Legion. Still, he is a problem nonetheless." He took another step closer and stared into the Courier's eyes. "You didn't fire first. I know you."_

" _You've only seen me once before. You don't know a damn thing about me," Miles growled, but Vulpes wagged his finger at this._

" _Is that the way you speak to the man who just saved you from crucifixion?" Vulpes asked with false kindness. "You need to let go of this hardened 'tough guy' persona you keep falling back on, because it doesn't suit you." Like a shark, Vulpes began to slowly circle the Courier. "I know enough about you. The look you wore on your face that day we met you in Nipton; you fear us. You fear the Legion. You are right to do so. While the mighty Caesar is the salvation of humanity, he is also to be respected by the Legion, those we lord over, and the dissolute, such as yourself."_

" _What, you trying to crucify my dignity instead?" He didn't understand the Frumentarii's current power trip._

" _That would hardly be a suitable punishment," Vulpes answered, stopping in front of him now. He turned to the scout and asked, "who shot at your party first?"_

" _The NCR guy. Sniped Claudius. But I don't see-"_

" _Enough," Vulpes snapped. Turning back to Miles, he continued. "I know you wouldn't shoot first, Courier. You fear us too much. And in a perfect world, I wouldn't blame you for killing that Legion soldier who attacked you. As I have told you before, this world is harsh. We must do what we can to survive and you only acted in self-defense. However, this world we live in is far from perfect; you were involved in the deaths of four legionnaires, so you must face some sort of punishment. But you came here today in search of a solution to your problem. Because you brought yourself here on your own will in search of clemency for your crime, I shall be lenient."_

" _Lenient?" Miles questioned, an eyebrow rising. That could mean anything. By Legion standards, lenient could mean a year of slave labor or worse._

" _Vulpes," the original interrogator began, " he should be crucified. Caesar's law states-"_

" _My duty," Vulpes growled in an interruption, "is to further the Legion's goals within the extent of my position as a frumentarii. Need I remind you?"_

 _The soldier didn't respond, so Vulpes began again with Miles. "To answer your question, anything would be lenient compared to death. We could cut out your tongue, but that punishment wouldn't further our cause any. I could have you enslaved, but that seems like such a waste, and unlike the men of the backward tribes we conquer, enslavement would likely make you too resentful. No, you'd be far more useful working for me."_

" _Working for you?" The Courier had no idea what that entailed. Did he mean permanently? No, he said no slavery. What was that all about?_

" _It turns out, I have a job for you Courier. It involves a shipment, so it meets your career expertise. My sources have informed me that this shipment in question is critical to the NCR and it will be arriving at the Mojave Outpost within a few days, so I need you to destroy it. It's a job that I could give to another frumentarii, but why risk their life when I can risk yours?"_

 _The way he asked that last question hinted at his amusement of the Courier risking his life at no cost to Vulpes or the Legion. Both of them knew that if he were found tampering with an NCR shipment, he could be punished by death. The NCR used to favor imprisonment, but in times of war, justice was swift. How could he do that sort of thing without being discovered? Of course, the NCR wouldn't suspect him, considering that he was on good terms with the soldiers in the Mojave. But would that give him enough security that he could do a job for the Legion? He didn't even want to work for them to begin with. However, considering he had little choice, he would hear them out._

" _I… I don't want to kill anybody else," he mumbled nervously. He was certain that Vulpes would make fun of him for having a soft heart, but the man just chuckled slightly._

" _And if you can find a way of destroying the cargo without killing, I would expect you to do so. A lone, unaligned civilian such as yourself would not want to be the target of the Bear. However…" Vulpes looked over towards the dying NCR soldiers and pointed to the empty, makeshift cross that stood there. "This is the only chance I will give you. If you refuse to take this job, if you fail this job and survive, or if you try to run, I will have you crucified for your crimes." He stepped forward, devilishly grinning, and whispered, "It's an incredibly painful experience. You start to have difficulty breathing until your body finally gives in and your organs fail. That can take days; days you spend hanging there, waiting and hoping for death when death won't come swiftly. So, think about it this way: if you are caught stealing from the NCR, they'll shoot you. It will be swift. You may fear their retaliation, but you should fear Caesar more. Our punishment is far more… enduring. Does that put things in perspective for you, Courier?"_

 _It did. He clearly understood the ultimatum that Vulpes had proposed: either possibly die a swift death in dealing with the NCR or definitely die a slow, painful death by refusing the Legion. There was only one thing left that made the decision difficult: what would his actions do to the NCR? He didn't care for the Bear, but he liked them a hell of a lot better than the Legion. Still, he didn't plan on dying, especially for something that Boone dragged him into._

 _He let out a defeated sigh. "I'll do it. But I'll need to be briefed on everything you know. I'm not walking in blind."_

 _Vulpes's smile widened. "You've made the right choice, Courier. Now come. We shall discuss the details." But those details only skimmed the surface of the bigger picture._

* * *

He told Veronica about the details of the mission. He only had a window if a few hours on the day the cargo arrived at the outpost to destroy it. Vulpes had given him some explosives and a detonator that he planned on giving to the spy who he originally planned to send. All the while, the scribe didn't say a word as she listened intently. If she was judging him, she was doing a damn good job at hiding it.

"So, how did you do it?" she asked him as if he had just told her nothing of significance.

"Huh?"

"Zack, obviously you didn't get caught. How did you do it?" she repeated.

"Well, remember when I told you about how we fought nightkin at the REPCONN building?" When she shook her head 'yes', he continued. "They were using those old stealthboy things to turn invisible. It's like they're addicted to the stuff. But yeah, I found an untapped stealthboy on one of the mutants we fought. I was holding onto it for the right buyer, but I ended up using it to sneak into the facility where the NCR was storing the cargo before it was to be shipped. It was some nice stuff too." He frowned remembering what was lost. "I would have stolen what I could carry if I had to blow it up, but I was afraid that those guns and armor would be recognizable. So, I only stole the bullets for the guns I had, I attached the C4, and once I was outside the base, I pressed the button. I heard the boom, and that's when I ran before the stealthboy ran out of juice."

"Wow." Veronica actually seemed amazed with his accomplishment. "That's crazy that you could do that without getting caught. You're like an espionage expert or something."

"I got lucky," he admitted, a sullen look crossing over his face. "I was lucky that I had enough time and that I was able to pick the lock to that building. I can pick locks, but I'm not exactly fast at it."

"But you did it. You survived what most people would have failed at. There's something to be said about that." She was putting what he did in such a positive light, but he didn't feel any better about it.

"But I aided the Legion," he reminded her.

"Who cares? I mean, sure, they're a bunch of misogynistic assholes, but you were going to die if you didn't and it's not like you're betraying your country. You aren't NCR and they would have killed you!" She just couldn't understand why that bothered him, and he knew he would have to explain it to her.

"I aided the Legion," he repeated, "and I don't agree with what they do to people and how they do it. If they were to take control of the Mojave…" He stopped in his tracks, forcing Veronica to follow in suit. His face turned from sadness to blankness. "What I did not only helped the Legion but hurt the NCR. It cost people their lives."

"Oh come on, you don't know that," Veronica argued, still not connecting the dots. "It was one shipment!"

"A critical one," he elaborated. "Remember what Mr. New Vegas said on the radio last night about Camp Forlorn Hope missing a shipment that cost them their location?"

That did it. Veronica finally had the missing pieces to the puzzle and once she put it together, her mouth hung open slightly. "You mean-"

"Yes," he answered. "Because of what I did, Camp Forlorn Hope was lost to the Legion." He shrugged. "And what did I get out of it? Vulpes was pleased. Gave me a machete to signify a good trade, but I sold that the day I met you. I traded the lives of soldiers fighting for a cause I _almost_ believe in for my own… is that right?"

"Zack, I… I don't know." Her distress was evident as she tried to figure out what to say and how she could say it. "How do you know what you did even made a difference? Who is the say that the NCR weren't already doomed to lose that location?"

"I know you're trying to make me feel better, but it's not working," he answered solemnly.

"But there's no way you could have known that shipment-" she tried to protest, but he cut her off.

"That doesn't make it right. I don't like killing if I don't have to. I mean, raiders are one thing. Guys like Cook-Cook need to be put down. And-" He did another double take before whispering. "If I could kill Legion soldiers with the guarantee that I wouldn't get caught, maybe I'd consider it. But the NCR has a lot of decent soldiers and a lot of them aren't blind patriots who've been brainwashed for a better cause. Many of them are just trying to get by. Now they're dead because of me."

He looked down at his feet, sighing. "But honestly, it was either help the Legion or die. I mean, what was I gonna do? I'm just a courier. I may be a good shot and the V.A.T.S. helps, but I can't fight the Legion and I'm not stupid enough to try like Boone. I don't know if you've seen a Legion hit squad before, but they're made up of some of the Legion's strongest soldiers. If I'm asleep when they find me, it's all over. Even if I were awake, it wouldn't matter. I could probably take out one. Maybe two, but then I'd killed, and that's if I'm lucky. Even if I were to survive a hit squad, they'd send an even stronger one after me. I wouldn't be able to outrun them, and even if I sought out the NCR for help, that's not safe either. The Legion has eyes and ears everywhere. It wouldn't be long until they'd catch me, and I'm not some NCR big-shot who can afford bodyguards."

He felt that he had convinced Veronica, but she was still trying to argue with him to get him to see that he wasn't so bad like he said he was.

"Okay, but you don't owe the NCR anything. Why should you feel responsible if you were just trying to live?"

"Because I am, plain and simple," he reminded her. "If the Legion had you by the balls and told you to infiltrate a Brotherhood shipment, would you?"

"Of course I wouldn't! But that's different! I'm one of them," she shot back. "You… You though… Okay, let me put it this way," she began to rephrase, "If you knew that the Legion would have successfully captured Forlorn Hope, would you have still taken Vulpes's offer?"

There was something he hadn't thought of and Veronica's question caught him off guard. Would he? What disturbed him was that despite valuing human life like he claimed, he couldn't answer that question, even if his death would have saved others.

"I… I don't know… maybe?" Just giving that vague answer made him feel depressed, as he felt like he was selling out his values. "What does that say about me? That I'm a selfish coward? Maybe Boone is right about me." The more he thought, the uglier everything became. Was that why he had a "hero complex" as he had put it? Was he just trying to make up for his cowardice or was he trying to prove to the world that he wasn't afraid when he knew he could manipulate the odds?

"Miles…" Veronica whispered so that no spies that possibly surrounded them could hear his real name. "There's nothing wrong with being afraid. The Legion… they scare me too. You'd have to be insane to _not_ fear them."

"Yes, but there's a difference between fear and- Look, V, if you don't want to travel with me anymore-"

"You know," Veronica interrupted, "if I had known about this five days ago, maybe I would have left at this point, but now…" Gently, she slid her right hand into his left as she faced him. "I feel like this is more than just a business arrangement, you know. Like you and I are friends, and even if you have some issues, that doesn't scare me." She looked a bit concerned that she had just admitted that. Maybe she thought that that would freak him out. "That doesn't bother you, does it?"

"Five days ago, it might have," he admitted.

"And I'm not saying that what you did was right. Maybe it was wrong. But if you can accept me and my secrets, I can accept yours. Is that fair?"

He didn't even know if he could accept himself, but for some reason, the young woman he was traveling with could. That crazy, yet compassionate scribe of a faction that he disliked, though she had a personality that he couldn't help but find endearing... If there was ever an exception to the rule of Brotherhood members, she was it. "Yes… I guess it is."

"Good, then let's not talk about it anymore. We can't change the past…" A goofy smile sprang onto her face. "Unless we have a Tardis or a Delorian."

"What?" He was suddenly puzzled.

"Old movies. Don't worry about it." She punched him lightly in the shoulder to emphasize her playfulness. At one point, that would have made the Courier nervous, but not any longer. "How much further until we reach New Vegas?" Geographically, they were really close, but giant walls still separated them from the city of sin.

"Well…" He looked at his Pip-Boy. "The east gate of Freeside isn't that far. Once we get there, we should be able to get into the Strip." Just thinking about the casinos gave him a good feeling throughout his body and he almost forgot about the Legion. It had been awhile since he had been to a good casino. The cards were calling his name. "I need to get a drink. And get laid. Yeah, that sounds right."

"Then we better keep moving," Veronica prodded, giving his hand a tug. "Those dice aren't going to roll themselves."

"Right, let's move." They started walking again and he felt ten times better than he had just a few minutes ago. Just having Veronica around made him feel better in a way that nobody else could. With him, she seemed to know just what to say and how to say it. Maybe he didn't deserve to feel that good after doing some of the things that he did, but regardless, she made him feel that way.

 _New Vegas is calling me now. No, it's calling us._ He had no idea how literal that truth was.


	10. Chapter 10: The Disarray

**Chapter 10: The Disarray**

Opening up about his involvement with the Legion seemed to clear up all the awkwardness that was hovering between Miles and Veronica that morning. As they were closing in on the Freeside gates, the two of them were chatting again. Most of it was mundane discussion, but none of it was forced, which was nice, as Miles hated frigid small talk.

"You know, I owe you one," the Courier finally said. He was feeling a bit more comfortable as he wasn't as worried about the possibility of a Legion spy following them. If there was, they wouldn't hear anything worth their time. Plus, the area also seemed pretty deserted, with no raiders or muggers about. "After last night-"

"Zack, please," Veronica cut him off. She sounded humored over his concern. "All I wanted was answers and you gave me more than enough."

"V, a legionnaire held a machete to your throat," he reminded her dryly. "Let me do something for you. Anything. Because it's hard to make up for something like that."

"Well…" That cute smile emerged on the scribe's face as she pondered. "There is one thing. If you could do it for me, I would be insanely grateful. You'd probably think it's stupid, though."

"Try me," he challenged. But even he couldn't possibly have guessed what she'd ask next.

"I want a dress." Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink at the mere mention.

"… that's it?" The Courier couldn't see why she would be embarrassed for asking for a dress, but he had no idea that that's what she'd ask for.

"Yes…" She decided to open up a little more about it. "A good one. Something elegant and classy, you know? But still stylish. Something that's eye-catching and sexy, but also says 'don't fuck with me.'" She realized that she ran away with that topic and she retreated slightly. "You don't think that's stu-"

"No, not at all. I completely understand." He did, whether she'd believe him or not. He remembered buying a suit back in Reno during a huge score. And it wasn't some ragged, old suit that he had found in a thrift store, but a high-quality suit made by tailors within the year. It was one of his favorite things that he ever owned. It was a shame when he had to sell it once the caps went dry. But as he looked at Veronica in her modest scribe robes and hood, he couldn't imagine her in something fancy. "I take it you haven't had much luck finding one?"

"Not really," she admitted with a small shrug. "Nothing that wasn't ripped or ugly. I keep hoping I'll come across some old world designer gown when I'm scavenging, but it never happens."

"I can imagine." Scavenging for clothes had never been all that promising for him either. Most clothing from the old world had rotted "You didn't think to buy one, maybe?"

"No, the thought _never_ occurred to me," she answered with more than a hint of sarcasm. "The Brotherhood doesn't have clothes like that for one. Not efficient or useful enough for them to consider. Vendors and merchants that I had contact with never carried stuff like that either. Anybody who sold clothes specifically stuck to the basics."

"Yeah, I can see that," the Courier admitted. Most wastelanders didn't have good clothes. Those who did were usually from a city. "But why a dress?"

She seemed to be feeling better, knowing that he wasn't judging her request, so she laughed. "Hey, you try getting a date wearing scribe robes. Might as well be wearing sweatpants."

The Courier raised an eyebrow. "Wait, is this the real reason you wanted to travel with me? You wanted to get laid? Is that what you meant by 'getting a fresh perspective?'"

"Oh shut up, I said getting a _date_!" she clarified. "And you said that you needed to get laid twenty minutes ago!"

"Yes, but that's not the main reason why we're going, remember? I'm just saying if that was your reason-"

"It isn't, you asshole," she laughed, punching him lightly in the ribs. Though after the night before, he flinched a little harder than usual. Her real punches hurt. "I'm just saying, I just like dresses, you know? Those ladies before the War, they knew what they were doing."

"That they did," he agreed. He hadn't seen a woman in a really fancy dress since he was in New Reno, and the women who could pull those looks off were absolutely gorgeous… or incredibly slutty. Either was a win for him. "So, you want me to find you a dress?" He eyed her down as they kept walking, trying to guess what her size would be. He was afraid to ask out of fear of getting his nose broken again.

"If you can find anything," she clarified, letting him know that it wasn't a huge deal. "I can't imagine you will, but maybe somebody in New Vegas will sell or trade us something. All I ask is that you keep an eye out if you can. It would be great having something nice to wear in the casinos."

"Of course." That was a pretty easy request, albeit a strange one from his traveling companion. He couldn't imagine her in a dress, especially since he never saw her wear anything aside from those scribe robes and she never seemed to take off that hood. That being said, her sometimes cheery personality suggested that she would have the confidence to wear a dress. "Hey, check it out."

Up ahead was what appeared to be a vendor's kiosk with a Vendortron inside. As they closed in on the location, Miles noticed the guns on the wall behind the robot. Above the kiosk in big, rusted letters read "Gun Runners."

"If only we had the caps… Gun Runners makes great stuff." As much as he liked his guns, he knew that there were better models out there. Plus, he only had basic pistols. Good weapons as they were, he'd like something that could pack more of a punch. Maybe a modified pistol of some sort would be a good investment.

"They do," Veronica agreed, though her tone was suddenly somber. "The Brotherhood knows firsthand. When the NCR pushed our people out of Helios-1, they were using Gun Runners supplies. It's pretty much the NCR's go-to supplier… You can buy from them if you want, but me, it almost feels like a betrayal, you know?"

He didn't know. "V, they sell ballistic fists that shoot shotgun rounds when they punch."

That got the scribe to perk up again. "Well damn… Forget what I just said. If we score big in New Vegas, can we go shopping?"

He laughed. "That's a given, V. And we will make it big. One way or another." Finally, they had arrived at the gates of Freeside. The word the Courier would use to describe it? Tacky. The gate itself was nothing special; just a metal push gate with no lock. Above it was a group of oddly placed, multi-colored boards. It brought attention to the location for sure, but it looked cheap. Not the best first impression, but he didn't care. He had questions that needed answers. "Let's roll."

* * *

Expecting to see the grandeur that was New Vegas, Freeside was a disappointing pit stop. Unlike the renovated buildings he hoped to see on the strip, many of the old structures on the outskirts were still crumbling, save a few exceptions. But the really sad thing was the number of poor people there was hanging around. Many of them wore patched together clothing and looked steps from death. There was an old ghoul begging for caps in exchange for the word on the street. Miles tossed him a few caps and in exchange, the ghoul told about the Kings, who were essentially the guardians of Freeside.

 _"They were a tribe that was offered a position in House's New Vegas, but they turned it down, saying it wasn't their style. Pretty thankful for that myself. Without the Kings, this place would be a complete hellhole, rather than just a partial one."_

 _Looks pretty damn close to one to me._ But not everybody looked poor and from years of experience working and living in the slums, the Courier had enough street smarts to make out who was who. The Kings were obvious. The gang had primarily male members on the streets, easily identified by leather jackets or black-striped shirts. They all seemed to have the same hairstyle too: big hair slicked up and back. _Wonder where they're getting the hair gel. Maybe they make their own?_

Shopkeepers and business owners were easy to identify too. Many of them wore nice clothes, whether the outfits were simple plaid or semi-fancy suits, both of which were steps above the rags that others were wearing. The drug dealers were easy to identify as well. Nothing about them stood out specifically, but he had a sixth sense about that sort of thing. There were also a few NCR soldiers in the area, which was evident by their uniforms. The Courier and the scribe passed a few of them in what seemed to be a shouting match with a few Kings. _Of course, the NCR has beef with the locals. What else is new?_

"What's with them?" Veronica asked as a large group of people were walking past them. They seemed to be escorted by several Kings, and the group itself contained people ranging from middle to the upper class, judging by their clothes.

"NCR tourists," Miles guessed with a shrug. "You'd think tension with the Legion would kill tourist season, but I guess not. Maybe people just want in on the high life before one side or another comes in and changes the whole thing? And it looks like they hired the Kings to escort them too." He and Veronica received an offer to be escorted to the Strip by the Kings, a small fee paying for their protection. They turned it down though. Paying for protection seemed like a waste when they had fought off Fiend leaders by themselves.

"Huh, how do they even get here?" Veronica asked. "They look too fancy to be trekking the Mojave alone."

"Shuttle system," Miles answered. "New Vegas sends a few of them out a week to the NCR and back." He noticed Veronica staring at him, bewildered. "What?"

"Why didn't we just take one of those?" she asked in almost disbelief.

"Because they don't run by Goodsprings? They don't stop anywhere around here at all, actually. The moment they enter the Mojave, it's a straight shot to Freeside. Even if they did stop, it's expensive. You're paying for gas and armed guards on that thing. No way I could afford that. Besides, a lot of people walk or use their own transportation. It's just too bad that there aren't many cars out there that work and most of the roads are covered in debris."

"I guess," though she didn't look too happy regardless.

"So… this place sure is depressing." There really wasn't all that much to see. They had passed a few shops, a small casino, and a giant light board that read THE KING'S inside the shape of a guitar, which was where he assumed the Kings were, but Freeside was still a wreck.

"I should have expected this much," Veronica sighed with a shaking head. "New Vegas is just a gated community where the powerful live in security without any care for the people on the outside."

Miles almost pointed out that the Brotherhood was similar in that "uncaring" way, but he kept it to himself. "It sucks, but I kind of get it," he admitted. "New Vegas is supposedly an economic juggernaut. If you let all these poor people in, they just take up space and won't spend that much in caps. That's why they require a credit check."

"Still, it just doesn't seem right that they do so little while all these people out here suffer."

 _Again, Brotherhood of Steel!_ _No, no, let's not make an issue._ "I never said it was right. Just that it's how the way it is. Besides, there's bound to be a lower class somewhere. Just-"

"By the way," the scribe interrupted, "when you find this guy that you're looking for, what exactly are you going to do?"

"Shhh!" He glanced around frantically before talking again. "You need to keep that on the down low, please. Don't know who's listening. But... I have to get that chip back if he still has it. Maybe 'House' will pay me for a late package? I also want to figure out what's up with Checkers anyway. Why the hell did he kill me over a poker chip?"

"Okay, then what's the plan?" she asked again.

"Well…" he whispered, "those Khans told me that Benny, the guy who shot me, is the leader of the Chairmen, one of the three families. If he's in Vegas, he'll be at his casino, The Tops. That's where things get difficult…"

"How so?"

"You've never been to a casino," he said, remembering that she lacked the experience in that regard. "In New Reno, casinos are packed with security, and they hold your weapons for you while you're inside. Even though it's to protect the money, it makes killing or kidnapping somebody difficult. I imagine New Vegas is the same way."

"Sooo… no weapons?" Veronica asked. Smiling, she held up her fists, grinning. "They can take the gauntlet, but not these babies."

"Even so, you can smuggle small stuff in if you know how," Miles informed her. "You could probably smuggle in some brass knucks. Me, I know how to smuggle small knives. I know a few tricks. Guns though… even the small ones are a bit difficult."

"But what will that even do?" Veronica questioned further. "How do we get him alone in a crowded casino? If you do end up killing him, how do we get out without getting caught?"

"I… I don't know. We'll need to do some recon first; scope out the casino, figure out what security is like, you know? Hopefully, he doesn't know I survived and we'll have the element of surprise on our- SHIT!" Somebody had smacked him in the back with a lead pipe.

"Hah! Die!" the mugger roared as he tried to swing again, but Veronica intercepted him and struck the man with her power fist. As Miles stood back, up, he saw another mugger coming at Veronica from her side. He drew his 10 mm and dropped the man with a single bullet. A third mugger approached, but Veronica took care of him with a single swing of Driver Nephi's old driver, obliterating his jaw.

"Hey, where did he hit you?" Veronica asked, touching his back as she caught her breath..

"Right there," the Courier answered, pointing. "It's not bad, just hurts like a bitch." He looked down at the three corpses they just made. All three of the men looked ragged and dirty, carrying nothing but the led pipes they brought to battle. "Why did they even try to mess with us? Didn't they see that we were packing a lot of heat? That's just stupid."

"They must have been desperate," Veronica guessed. She glanced around at the small crowd of people that had witnessed their feat. "Do we even loot them? With these people watch-"

"Yes, just the pipes though. We can probably get a few caps out of them." After taking the three led pipes, somebody finally approached them. Miles instantly pointed his gun at the newcomer, but there was no need.

"Hey, easy now. Just wanted to make sure you folks were alright." The young, dark-skinned man, 19 or so, held up his hands, showing he meant no harm. He was one of the Kings, judging by his leather jacket, striped shirt, and gelled hair.

 _Good thing I didn't shoot. The last thing I want is a gang of greasers trying to kill me._ "Uh, sorry." He put the gun away. "Yeah, we're fine."

"You folks should have hired an escort. A King, a freelancer; anybody. You could have been killed."

"We can take care of ourselves, but I guess it's the thought that counts. Thanks, kid." He touched Veronica's shoulder. "Come on, we gotta move. This place is bad news." They continued a brisk pace down the road and up ahead, they saw what they came for: the New Vegas gate.

WELCOME TO THE STRIP, the neon lights flashed. The gate was topped with more colored boards and flanking each side of the path was two catwalks, connected by a makeshift bridge. A half-dozen securitrons stood, guarding the entrance with cold stillness.

"Well, here we are." The Courier took out his cap stacks for the credit check. "Walk slowly. You never know when robots will go berserk."

"I'M GETTIN' IN, DAMN YOU!" A ragged man barreled past them towards the gate, only to be brought down by a barrage of red lasers, disintegrating him on sight.

"THREAT CLEARED!" One of the securitrons announced in an electronic sounding voice. A few feet away from the pathway, Miles and Veronica stood, stunned.

"So… walk slowly?" Veronica repeated, followed by an awkward chuckle to keep things light.

"Yeah, slowly." But they barely took two steps before the securitron near the front of the line rolled up to them.

"HALT!" the securitron ordered at full volume. "SUBMIT TO A CREDIT CHECK OF 2,000 CAPS PER PERSON OR PRESENT YOUR PASSPORTS BEFORE PROCEEDING TO THE GATE!"

He felt as if he had just swallowed a deathclaw egg whole. "2,000 per person?" _I should have known._

"IF YOU DO NOT HAVE 2,000 CAPS PER PERSON OR PASSPORTS, PLEASE STEP ASIDE!"

"I have 2,200 right here. If we could just-"

"YOUR FUNDS ARE ONLY SUFFICIENT FOR ONE ENTRY! IF TWO ENTER, YOU WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT!"

"But-"

"Zack!" Veronica took him by the arm and pulled him away from the line that the securitron had set. "You can't reason with a robot. He's not going to let us in."

"I know, I know… I just…" His frustration was burning his face. So close to the truth, and yet so far away. All that was holding him back was the lack of 1,800 caps or a passport that he couldn't have.

"Look…" She smiled at him, nodding. "You go on ahead. I can try to make some money to get in, or you can make it on the inside to-"

"You must be insane, I'm not leaving you out here. Did you see those muggers? This place is dangerous."

"Oh, how chivalrous," she responded in mock sweetness before reverting back to her original seriousness. "I'm a big girl. You know I can take care of myself. I could have taken all of those muggers by myself if I wanted."

"No, you're right," he agreed, "but we don't know anything about this place. What if something uglier than a mugger turns its nasty head?" He touched the hand that clasped his arm. "I couldn't forgive myself if you got hurt while I was in there. So come on, let's find a way to make that money."

"But what about Checkers?" she argued, reminding him why they were there. "Aren't you-"

"Checkers can wait." He hated to say it, but it would all be okay. "Come on, let's walk."

"HAVE A NICE DAY!" The robot said as they were leaving.

"Yeah, too late," the Courier grumbled. To Veronica, he said, "how do we get 2,000 more caps? I doubt there are even 200 caps in this ghetto alone."

"I don't know. We could get jobs?" Veronica suggested with a shrug. "That King at the gate to Freeside was charging 100 caps for escorting somebody to the gates. If we escort 20 people-"

"Not a good idea," Miles interrupted. "The Kings may seem alright so far, but moving in on their turf and business? I don't think so. I'm surprised they even let Freelancers run those jobs."

"Well, what about those chems we picked off those Fiends? We could sell them, no?"

"Yes, I was thinking that, but we need to find a dealer. Not too hard in a place like this... Even then, a dealer isn't going to pay market price, and we won't have enough to make up for what we lack."

"Okay, or… that casino we passed; The Atomic Wrangler? You said you've had luck at casinos, no? Maybe you should try and win a few games of cards and get us the money?"

He had considered that. All it would take was a few lucky hands and they could get to the Strip within the hour. But he couldn't shake that brick that he felt in his stomach. "No, I don't think so. I'm not feeling it."

"Feeling it?" she repeated skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I feel it in my gut," he answered, giving a light pound on his abdomen. "I'm not feeling lucky. And if there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that you don't gamble your caps when your gut tells you not to, especially if we need them."

"Hmm… superstitious much?" She didn't seem to be buying his excuse.

"Not really. I just know when to hold off. Trust me, if I was feeling lucky, we wouldn't even be having this conversation." As they passed by the King's building, Miles noticed that the young King that approached them near the gate was leaning against the old building's wall. Upon seeing them again, he stood up straight and approached them.

"Hey, you two back already?" he asked. "What happened?"

"Not enough caps for both of us to make the credit check," the Courier answered, glumly.

"Hmm, take a number," the kid groaned. "Lot of people here can't make the credit check. Most of them are not even close. That's why you see all these people just hanging around." At that mention, the young gang member looked over at a group of people huddled around a small fire. "Some of them are NCR citizens who spent too much money on the Strip just get stuck here if they can't pay for the bus to get back home."

"Yeah, that makes sense. Guess they don't do roundtrip tickets?" Out of all the displaced people hanging around the intersection, one woman, in particular, caught his eye. Her once beautiful dress was in tatters as she crouched near a fire. She looked like she was probably too high-class and inexperienced to walk through the desert back to the NCR border. The ruined dress disappointed him even further. Feeling that way over a dress felt silly, but he only saw the lost opportunity. If he had gotten to the woman before her dress was torn apart, he could have paid her for it and Veronica would have been overjoyed with her new gift. Everybody would have won, but the reality made him feel like even more of a loser. Definitely not a good day to try his hand at blackjack.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Didn't they give you folks some sort of pamphlet about this sort of thing before you got on the bus?" the young man asked.

"Pamphlet?" Veronica questioned. "No, we didn't take the bus. We walked?"

The young king raised his eyebrow. "You walked? All the way from the NCR? I mean it's been done before, but-"

"Look, friend," Miles interrupted, "we need about two thousand more caps. Is anybody hiring?"

The gang member snorted. "Ha, good luck with that. You're not the first person around here looking for work. Look at all these losers." He motioned to all the in-betweeners loitering near the fires. "They've been flooding the market. Besides, people around here prefer hiring local. You might be able to get some odd jobs, but-"

"But what? Look, kid…" He lowered his voice and tried to calm himself. "You seem alright to me. You wouldn't be able to help us find something to do around here would you? The Kings need work done? I'm not above getting my hands dirty to a degree."

The gang member shook his head. "Nah, we take care of our own problems. You might get some work with the Followers, but don't expect much in pay. They have their hands full, and not with caps." He pondered some, touching his chin. "The Garret twins might have work, but I doubt they can offer you much, other than odd jobs. The Van Graffs already have a good amount of staff, so…" His eyes widened suddenly and he touched Miles's shoulder lightly, pulling his ear close for a secret. "I know how you can get into New Vegas without work, but…" A brief, concerned look passed over his expression, "I'm not supposed to go around telling people this. I'm supposed to keep it quiet, so fifty caps, and it's our secret."

Normally, he wouldn't feel comfortable with a stranger (especially a gang member) touching him, but he saw the opportunity. "I don't have to do anything crazy, do I?"

"Nah, no man, you just gotta know who to talk to," he reassured with a light chuckle.

"Zack, you think this is a good idea?" Veronica asked. He shook his head.

"No idea, but I'm willing to make an exception. Fifty caps isn't much of a dent in our situation." He wasn't feeling lucky, but it was a risk he figured was worth taking. Slowly, he took a stack of caps, counted out 50, and handed them to the young King. The kid's smile widened and he continued to speak in a hushed tone.

"Alright, now listen," he whispered, "a lot of us Kings don't have 2,000 caps to our names, but whenever we do need or want to visit the Strip, we have a way of getting in. Check it out…"

* * *

"Welcome to Mick and Ralph's. We got everything you need right here and then some." The man at the counter had medium length brown hair and looked like he was in his late thirties. Though he was smiling, his eyes looked tired. The Courier figured that living in the "glorious" Freeside must do that to people.

"Hey, friend," Miles opened cordially. No matter what mood he was in, he knew that he'd have to be on his best behavior. The kid had told him that even for the right price, Ralph wasn't about to help just anybody. "Nice setup you have."

"Yeah, it's very… rustic?" Veronica added, trying to be friendly, but launching a raised eyebrow from Ralph. Miles gave her a look that screamed _"let me do the talking."_ Endearing as she was to him, he knew her awkwardness could make things worse.

"So, what do you folks need? Mick can sell you a piece, but it looks like you two are packing already," he said, nodding at Miles's SMG. "Not to worry. I sell everything else you could possibly need."

"Yeah, we actually needed to talk to you." Miles leaned in on the counter and said in a soft voice, "I've been told that getting people onto the Strip is your specialty."

Ralph's eyes widened and they cautiously darted a few times. Following that nervous reaction, his face turned dire. "I don't know who told you that, but that's confidential. I only offer that service if The King gives the okay. Impress _him_ and we can talk."

"Wait, slow down," Miles cut in, "The King? I thought that was the name of the gang."

Ralph chuckled, seemingly calmer since he picked up on the fact that Miles wasn't trying to cause trouble. "Definitely new in town. The King is the leader of the gang and he has his boys all over Freeside. He controls the water pump and is essentially the go-to guy for what goes around here."

"But you were recommended to us," Veronica started, growing impatient. "A King named Riff told us to come here. He showed us the fake New Vegas passport you made him."

"Riff sent you?" Ralph perked up somewhat. "He's a good kid, but that wasn't something he should have told you. I'll talk to him later about that, but…" Knowing that they definitely knew his secret, he opened up. "Yeah, I've got a little side business going, but what I'm about to share with you does not leave this room, eh? Over the years, I've gradually perfected my craft to the point of perfection. No one can distinguish between my work and the real thing. What I'm referring to is passports." He sighed again. "You two know my secret, but again, I have no idea who you are. If you want me to do this, talk to the King… he is kind of exclusive though. Maybe Riff can get you an audience with him, but he's pretty low-ranking. So-"

"Look, I need your help." Miles was getting irritated too, and he was struggling to keep it in. "If you want caps, guns, drugs-"

"Son, this is more than just caps," Ralph answered firmly. "I have a business to take care of. Mick and I-"

"Come on, this is so simple!" Veronica suddenly lost her cool and stepped up to the counter in a huff. "Do you know how close we are? How are we supposed to make 2,000 more caps in this piece of crap tow-"

"Easy, EASY!" Miles cut in, putting himself between her and Ralph. She was _not_ helping their chances.

Miles immediately took Veronica by the shoulders and although she did not appreciate that, she calmed down at his touch. As the red in her cheeks faded, Miles noticed how adorable she looked when she was frustrated, though he knew she was probably twice as dangerous when enraged. But all that gave him an idea. Knowing her, she'd need to be out of the picture for a moment and he could use that to his advantage. Her reactions and expressions would give away his lies.

"Veronica, sweetheart," he began in a sugary voice, "will you give us a moment? The _men_ need to talk."

He thought that that line would get her to punch him in the face right then and there. Fortunately, all it did was shoot her anger up again and nothing else. "Excuse me?"

"Veronicaaa…" He slowly swayed her by the shoulders for a few seconds, and for a brief second, he shot her a look that Ralph couldn't see, saying _"I'll handle this. Play along."_

"Fine…" she groaned indignantly. "I'm going to have a look around the shop." Sulking, she stepped away and Miles leaned back on the counter.

"Well, she's a little spark plug," Ralph chuckled softly so that she wouldn't hear. "A real cutie, but what a temper."

"Yeah, she's got a lot of energy. You should see her when the lights are off," the Courier whispered back with a wink.

Ralph grinned back. "Oh, I get it. She your girlfriend?"

"Wife," Miles lied. _Oh God, she's going to hate me._ "We just got married and we're going to the Strip for our honeymoon… well, we were supposed to."

For a moment, he thought he had succeeded, as Ralph looked a bit upset, but he shook it off quickly. "Didn't you know about the credit check? Those brochures-"

"Look, Ralph," Miles cut in. "We don't make a lot of money. I work security back in The Hub and she's a librarian. I couldn't even afford the bus, so we had to fucking walk here. Walk here, through a desert, right before our honeymoon. And yes, we knew about the change in the credit check, but not only were our passports stolen, then we lost half of our caps paying off a corrupt NCR soldier for 'protection.' Can you believe that shit?"

"Oh wow, fuck that," Ralph said sympathetically. "NCR are a bunch of crooks."

"Try living in their state," the Courier added. _Now for one last layer._ "But really man, if we don't get into the Strip, she's never going to let me live it down and I'm not gonna be getting laid for the next year. All I want is to get us to the Strip, get us a cheap motel, gamble a little, and pretend that we're big shots for once in our lives." He exhaled, emphasizing his downtrodden expression. "But… I guess we'll have to go back home… on foot. Like-"

"Okay, okay, I'll help you out," Ralph interrupted, sighing in defeat. "That just sucks. All of it. I'd just hate to disappoint a young couple, especially after they got screwed over by some NCR prick. So, for two passports, 1,000 caps. Any less and it ain't worth the risk of getting caught."

"A thousand caps? There's no way your supplies cost you that much. 700 caps."

"Hah! I like your style, kid, but no can do," Ralph laughed. "That's good money, but you're in no position to barter."

"Look man, I-" Another idea hit him. "Okay, 1,000 caps it is. Maybe you can do me another favor?"

Ralph gave him a strange look. "I already did you a favor. A second one won't be cheap."

"Come on this is easy." He glanced over at Veronica again, who was looking at a broken piece of tech on a shelf. "I need a dress."

He was baffled. "A dress?"

"Yeah, she had one, but a… a bloatfly ate it." _God, that was stupid._ He could only lie for so long before he said something absurd. Ralph didn't look like he believed it either. _Just gotta keep talking._ "You saw that robe she's wearing now, right? That's the last piece of clothing she's got right now. If she has to wear that on the Strip-"

"Hmm… I _could_ get you a dress," Ralph pondered. "I know a guy that resells barely used dresses for dirt cheap. What are you looking for? Color? Size?"

"Color… anything that's not hideous. I couldn't tell you a size, but she's somewhere between 5' and 5'2", height-wise and she's in great shape, so something... something thin. As for the look… Make it an eye catcher; something that will make the other guys jealous of me, but not enough that they'd be willing to cross me over her. Include that in the package, and…" He pulled out his new guns on the counter. It was one of the nicer raider guns he had picked up, but he didn't need it. "I'll throw this in. I never use it anyway. It's in good condition too. If you need to test it-"

"That won't be necessary," Ralph interrupted, looking at Miles like he was a pitiful loser. "It's a deal. You want to show your lady the life on the Strip? Not gonna be the one to say no." Another sigh. "I must be going soft. Here, I'll get the camera for your photos. After that, it's gonna take some time to get them ready. You'll have to come back tomorrow." The man knelt behind the counter to dig for his polaroid, and Miles took the chance to give Veronica a thumbs up, getting one from her in return.

 _Oh God, she's going to give me such a hard time over this._

* * *

Much to his surprise, when he told Veronica about the lies he told that got them the passports, she was more humored by the story than annoyed with the sexism he used to get it across.

 _I guess the ends justify the means._

"So anyway, I'm Mrs. Veronica Gilmore now?" she laughed. It was a bit funnier to her than he anticipated. "If I have to take your last name, couldn't I have at least taken your real one?"

"Ah yes, got to be authentic on our _fake_ passports," Miles shot back, whispering the word fake, just in case somebody who cared was nearby.

"So what do we do now? He said it would take a day to get them done, right?"

"Right," he confirmed. "We'll get a room somewhere for the night, but until then, we got daylight to kill. Might as well look around. Maybe we can get some gofer work, get a bite to eat-"

"Go gamble?" Veronica added hopefully. "There's that little casino we passed. You said you were going to teach me, so-"

"Maybe later," he forcefully interrupted. "Like I said, I'm not feeling lucky. How about-"

"Not feeling lucky?" Veronica cut in again, eyebrow raised and in a tone of disbelief. "You just lied your way to fake NCR passports, a highly exclusive service, might I add, all based on a tip by some gang member who wasn't supposed to tell us about it to begin with. That sounds pretty lucky to me."

"Yeah, well, sometimes you gotta roll the dice and hope for-"

"I'm beginning to think you're all talk," Veronica challenged, teasing him slightly as she did. "You did all that talk about how you used to gamble to earn a decent meal and a place to sleep, but I haven't seen that once this past week. What gives?"

He shook his head. "On the days I don't have to gamble to live, I consider myself lucky." He looked over at the big, brick wall nearby that led to a wooden gate. "Either way, we have somewhere I need to go."

The Old Mormon Fort was where Ralph had directed them to go. _"You looking for the Followers? That's where they are, at the old fort,"_ he had told them.

Sure enough, that's what they found once they entered through the old wooden doors. In the courtyard, they were surrounded by doctors and scientists, all in white labcoats, who were too busy tending to the sick and poor to notice their arrival. The space had quite a few tents, each filled to the brim. Despite all the bustle of the crowd, things were rather quiet outside of the chatter of directions between Followers.

"So, this is a Follower's base?" Veronica asked, obvious as the answer was. "Looks pretty low-tech. They always this busy?"

"Hmm, we sure weren't back home," the Courier replied while he scanned the goings on. "Then again, we were in a pretty rural area. With all these poor folks clustering in Freeside, they probably have a lot more work to do. Back in Montana, we had a clinic, but the only people we ever frequently treated were the Khans. We were definitely more research-based."

"Yeah…"

He noticed that Veronica seemed a little bit uncomfortable, being a Brotherhood scribe in a place filled with those of an alternate ideology, but she said nothing until he asked her, "You alright?"

"Me? Sure, I'm peachy," she answered, obviously lying. "You don't think they're going to mind me being here? I feel like I stick out."

"In those robes? V, not everybody who wears robes is a Brotherhood member. Just be nice and try not to start any fights."

She gave a half-hearted laugh. "Start any fights? I'm not- Look, you sure this is a good idea, giving them the books on your pip-boy? I'm not going to stop you, but some of that stuff on that drive could be dangerous."

"Or," he proposed, "They'll become more educated and better able to take care of themselves. Come on, think positive."

"Positive?" Veronica asked in an almost amused tone. "You're a bigger pessimist than I am."

"True, but I know when to put it away," he added. "Hey you, can you help us with something?" He caught the attention of a tall, bespectacled Follower with blonde hair. The man looked as if he hadn't slept in days in that he looked physically exhausted and somewhat cranky, but he put on a weak smile and spoke with them.

"Hi there, if you're looking for medical help, try the other doctors. I'm just a researcher." His smiled faded "Not even a particularly good one at that."

"No, no, it's not that," Miles clarified, completely ignoring the man's troubles that he was hinting at. "I need to speak with whoever is in charge here. I have a… a donation."

The researcher's eyes suddenly brightened. "Oh, you'll want to speak with Julie Farkas then. She should be…" He glanced around and behind his back before shrugging slightly, "somewhere… You'll know her when you see her, though. She's got spiky hair and-"

 _Bingo!_ No sooner than the researcher said that, Miles saw a woman step out of one of the tents. She had a mohawk, which hardly looked like the kind of hairstyle a Follower would have, considering how popular it was with raiders. However, as he began to approach her, he saw that her face seemed soft and she had a gentle look in her eyes. The expression was a stark contrast from her hair, but if it reflected a compassionate nature, that was all that mattered for being a Follower of the Apocalypse.

"Hello, Miss Farkas?"

Like the researcher, the woman looked fatigued, but her smile at their arrival. "Hello, are you here to drop off medical supplies? Or do you need any help with injuries? You've come to the right place, but we're a little busy at the-"

"I have a donation," Miles interrupted, holding up his pip-boy arm. "It's all in here. I have a lot of books in a digital format. If you can show me to one of your computers, I can upload it for you. The file is pretty big, though, and it may have some repeats from your library, but-"

"No, no, we can see what you have. This way, please." She directed the two of them to follow her to the nearest tent. Though Miles didn't realize it at first, the researcher had followed them as well. Perhaps he was interested in seeing this unorthodox donation, but nobody seemed to notice his presence. As they stopped at the computer in the tent, Miles handed Julie the file drive.

"I hope this isn't another virus," she commented dryly as the files loaded. "The last time we- Oh my God." Her jaw nearly hit the floor as the thousands of documents opened up on the screen. "I… I've never seen so many in a digital format. How did you get all of these?"

"My mother," Miles answered simply. "I'm not a Follower, but she was. Like I said, some of those files are probably repeated in your catalog already, but-"

"No, this is wonderful," Julie interrupted, sounding almost giddy with excitement. "There's fiction, history, maintenance and repair... This will be so helpful." She stood up and turned to Miles, looking like she was about to hug him. Thankfully for him, she didn't. "How can we ever repay you for all of this?"

"Compensation would be nice, but…" Seeing through the entrance to the tent, he could see how overrun the Followers were. "I need to make some money. If you could give us work, that would be great."

"Oh, of course," Julie exclaimed. She looked so energized by the donation, like it had given her a week of sleep within a few seconds. "We need to get the printer working again so we can start printing these books. Ever since our engineer fell off the wagon, things have been falling apart. As for Ronte, the engineer… He and our chemist have been gone for some time. Fallen back into old habits, I'm sure. If you could find some way to get them back-"

"I'll see what I do. As for the printer…" He looked over at Veronica and nodded.

"Wait, hold on-" Veronica began, almost in protest.

"What, you said you were good at fixing stuff. Can you fix _that_ stuff?"

"I…" she sighed, defeated. "Fine, show me where it is." There was a little bit of bite in her words, but she followed Julie out of that tent and into a new one, leaving Miles with the researcher that they had run into at the entrance.

"So…" He suddenly realized that he had no idea where the guys he was supposed to look for were. "Where do I need to go?"

"I think I might be able to help you find them," the researcher answered. "If you can just convince them to come back here, we have detox chems. Nothing that will break the addiction, but it might sober them up enough to think straight."

"Okay, so…"

"Ronte is probably hanging out near the Atomic Wrangler. Hoff… I'm not sure, but there are a few places you could check. He's usually near Mick and Ralph's. You know where those are?"

"Yeah, passed them both on the way in. Thanks… um, your name?"

"Arcade. Arcade Gannon." He held out his hand, and Miles cautiously shook it.

"Zack Gilmore." _What kind of a name is Arcade?_ He kept that last bit to himself.

"Anyway," the researcher continued, "what you did for Julie was incredibly generous. She's been searching for books, both hard and data copies, for a while now, but most people charge an arm and a leg for that stuff. Giving that entire cache for free…" He cocked his head. "Are you sure you're not a Follower?"

"Almost was until shit happened." He didn't feel like telling his story to this stranger, despite the man's apparent genuineness with him. "I don't think you guys want me, though. Can't say I'm a good influence."

Arcade sighed, shaking his head in what seemed to be despair. "Please don't tell me that you came to New Vegas for the gambling, drugs, and prostitutes. You had so much potential."

"What, Followers don't partake?" he questioned with a chuckle. He imagined most of them didn't and he was right.

"Some do, but I don't get the appeal to Vegas in general, I guess. If it were up to me…" He shook his head again, "No, you never know who's watching."

 _Hmm, I can relate._ "Well, what does appeal to you?" He must have asked that question in an unintended tone because Arcade looked both confused and suspicious.

"Um… Maybe I'm reading this wrong, but are you hitting-"

"What? No, no." He felt his cheeks redden, "I just want to know more about you. You seem like a smart guy."

Arcade chuckled a sad sort of laugh. "The flattery is a nice touch, but you don't want to know about me. I'm really very boring. You'd get better stories out of a Freeside junkie. Try Ronte when you find him. He usually has something funny to say."

"Well fine, no pressure. I get it, not everybody wants to talk. Just saying, I was legitimately interested." That seemed to work, as Arcade seemed to give in.

"Oh, all right, just because you seem alright. I'm thirty… ish. Well, late thirties." He seemed embarrassed to admit that, and Miles wouldn't know why. The man looked good for being almost forty. "I was born..." A nervous pause arrived and left, "west of here. I was an only child and spent most of my time with my mother. My father died when I was young and I never got over it. Oh... and I like medicine and reading books about failed pre-war socioeconomic policies."

 _Wow, this guy really is boring._ Or at least who he said he claimed to be was boring. Like Veronica, he seemed to be hiding something. Constantly hiding something himself, the Courier had gotten better at reading that in people. But he didn't feel like pushing the man anymore. Arcade seemed like a good guy, but not the kind of guy that would be fun to travel with, despite his few entertaining mannerisms. Compared to Veronica, he seemed far more uptight.

"For what it's worth, you seem like a smart guy," Miles complimented. It was the only compliment he could really give the guy. "I'm sure the Followers are glad to have you on board. How'd you join up with them anyway? Born into them like I was?"

"No, not quite," Arcade sighed, shaking his head. "I found them, I asked to join, and they let me in. Honestly, it isn't too difficult to join the Followers if you have half a brain and aren't a complete jerk. I wanted to help people and I enjoyed learning, so I signed up. It's how I got my medical training. And because New Vegas is in trouble, I came out here. If someone doesn't step up and try to help the people here, it's going to end very badly, no matter who comes out on top in this schism."

"Yeah, I can see that." The Courier didn't need to see Freeside to understand what Arcade was talking about. The Bear and the Bull had a way of mucking things up for a lot of people. But seeing Freeside was a nice reminder that the Vegas he had been seeking wasn't all shiny as he had hoped. "You said earlier that you're a researcher. What kind of research are you into?"

"I can't say I'm 'into' much of anything," Arcade sighed, emphasizing his distaste for Miles's choice of words. But finding alternative treatments for common illnesses and injuries. The fact is, we can't go looting hospital forever. Though, given our resources... As far as fruitless wastes of time go, it's quite noble in its aims, I suppose." The man looked visibly upset at that point, looking down at his shoes before looking Miles back in the eyes, forcing a half-smile on his face."Besides, someone needs to do research, and unlike some followers, I'm not much of a people person, so I guess it's a match made in heaven. There are worse things one can be I'm fine doing research back here, even if it is a bit boring..."

"Like you?" Miles asked, trying to make a joke based on Arcade calling himself boring early, but instantly pulling back his smile when he noticed that Arcade's expression didn't change. No humor, no annoyance, nothing. Clearly, what worked for Veronica wouldn't work for the Follower. "You don't sound all that enthusiastic about it, though."

"Really, there's more to life than enthusiasm," Arcade scoffed, shaking his head. "However, I am I'm enthusiastic about helping people, but _nihil novi sub sole_."

The Courier felt a chill rush through his veins, hearing those words, and his eyes grew wide. He had let his guard down in the fort, but maybe he shouldn't have. After all, Caesar was once a Follower, so who was to say that Arcade wasn't with the Legion?

"That was Latin... I don't know what you just said, but I know that was Latin." He hadn't bothered learning the language, but considering how the Bull was on the rise, it would probably be useful. Instinctually, his hand drifted toward his holstered gun, but he stopped when Arcade's face lit up with the realization of what he had triggered.

"Oh. Sorry." He looked and sounded genuinely sincere in his apology. "It means ' _There is nothing new under the sun.'_ So, I take it from your response that you've had run-ins with the Legion before?"

"I may have..." He wasn't about to go into detail with him. "You should be careful with that talk, though. People will think you're a skirt."

"Hmm, it's good to know that the slang in the wastes hasn't gotten anymore clever since I last checked," Arcade sighed. "Besides, Caesar can cite Cato to suit his purpose, but his Legion isn't the only society to have used the language. Many people have spoken Latin. Some of them were quite pleasant."

"None of the ones I know," Miles replied, scowling. That actually wasn't the case, as his mother did know some Latin, but in the present, the language brought his thoughts back to Vulpes. Not exactly the best representative. "So forgive me if I'm a bit suspicious."

"Hmmm..." The Follower looked distressed. "It's unfortunate that the language is now associated with the gentlemen across the river. And it doesn't help the Followers, given that Caesar was one of us at one point in time. It's not a good promotion of our image, even if his intentions were noble... albeit warped."

"Noble, albeit warped..." That almost sounded like sympathy. It wasn't as though the Courier hadn't met Legion sympathizers or supporters before. Towns and territories under Legion control were definitely the safest, and usually, civilians were left alone if they played ball... but that was never a guaranteed thing from what he had seen and the stories he heard.

"Caesar wanted to rebuild the new world in the image of the old," Arcade explained, noting that Miles wasn't convinced. "A sad story of good intentions gone bad. In that regard, he's hardly unique. But if you set aside his leadership capabilities, extensive knowledge, and ruthless cunning, he's just another jerk who steps on people to get his way. Not all that different than the NCR, Mr. House, or the Brotherhood back when they had power. Though I'd say Caesar is easily the worst of them."

"Huh... you hate power-hungry, imperialistic assholes too, huh?" Miles asked, grinning. All of a sudden, he couldn't help but like Arcade a little more. If he had to guess, Arcade was probably a touch more of an extremist than he was, but he liked him nonetheless. "Notice you left out the Enclave. Word has it that they got squashed out East like they did out here, right?"

"Oh yes, them too." Arcade adjusted his glasses, looking a little uncomfortable. "But as you so eloquently put, those 'assholes' are a problem, regardless of whether they're speaking Latin or otherwise."

"Well... at the end of the day, I wish the Followers well," Miles said, nodding. "You guys definitely have your work cut out for you."

"You're only passing through then?" Arcade asked, almost looking disappointed. "Despite your poor choice in vocabulary and extracurricular activities, you seem like an intelligent man who can handle himself. New Vegas and the Mojave would benefit from having somebody like you around."

"Yeah, I don't think so. The second battle for Hoover Dam is going to be a bloodbath, regardless of who wins. I'm just here to take care of business." Still, he wondered if Arcade was right about that. Would the Mojave benefit from him being around? He had helped a lot of people in Goodsprings. He helped those Khans get away safely. He helped those ghouls at the test center (hopefully not to their deaths in those rockets, but maybe that was what they wanted?) And he helped Boone...

His influence was changing the game. He just couldn't see all of the pieces yet.

* * *

As it turned out, Ronte and Hoff weren't exactly open to dropping their addictions at the say so of a random guy who just walked into town, especially considering the fact that the booze and chems they were on were cheaply made, easy to get hooked on, but weak in providing a good high. Miles had tried to talk to them, but he wasn't getting through. He wasn't a therapist and he didn't have any detox chems.

They did give him some good info, however. He found out who was supplying them and where the man could be found. Dixon was his name, and the Courier had seen him loitering near Mick and Ralph's earlier. He looked a little less dirty than the average local, wearing a nice cap and a vest. He had a small mustache growing and in his hand, he was holding a very large case. He definitely had a lot of merchandise that day.

"Yo, Dixon?" Miles called out. The dealer's attention was drawn to him and the man nodded.

"That's my name," he responded, giving a quick nod. "You new in town? I don't know your name, but I saw you earlier." His voice sounded a bit cracked, but his words were smooth regardless. Being a dealer required a certain amount of skill in that department.

"Yeah man, I need to talk to you about your business."

The dealer's eyes lit up slightly. "Ah, I hear you. Looking for a fix? I got what you need. Cigarettes, jet, psycho, booze, you name it. I even got some Mary Jane if you want it. NCR can't take that away from you here, you know."

"No, I don't want any of that. I'm here to talk to you about Ronte and Hoff. I hear that you're their supplier."

A goofy grin spread on Dixon's face. "Yeah, those two cats are my best customers." He started laughing at the thought. "Of course, they're addicted to my shit, and it's pretty hilarious. Drawin' them in like flies and taking their caps. Too damn easy."

Miles wasn't laughing, however. "Well, you need to stop," he said, not mincing words.

The dealer's laughing stopped. "Say what?"

"You heard me. Look, man," he began, trying to appeal to the man's better nature, "I get your business. It's good money in a shithole like this. But this community needs those guys more than you need their money. I need you to stop supplying them, especially with that cheap shit you're selling them."

"Ah, you're such a saint, kid," the dealer mumbled sarcastically. Then, his brow furrowed. "You know what I don't like? Some dumb shit like you coming into my town and telling me how to live my life, saying that they have some sort of moral high ground. Well, unless you're going to buy, you can go fuck yourself."

His words had some bite, but the Courier held his ground. "Why are you even selling this cheap shit anyway? High addiction with a low buzz from what I hear… you're going to kill your customers. That can't be good for business. Wouldn't you want to keep them alive to buy more product?"

"Ha, shows what you know," Dixon laughed, uncaring. "Suckers come and suckers go. And considering how many tourists end up getting stuck in this town with barely any caps to their names, they're willing to pay whatever for even the weakest goods. Ronte and Hoff are just like them. Hate to break it to you, but I'm doing pretty damn well for myself right now. Anything else you want to try, or are we done here?"

Miles contemplated if he really was done there. Dixon wouldn't budge. Drug sales and use were legal in Freeside and New Vegas, so his market was fair, even if he was selling cheaper, more addictive drugs. Yet he was killing two important members of the Followers without care.

 _I could kill him._ He didn't like that his thoughts drifted in that direction, but it could work. Killing the guy would stop the flow of the cheap drugs, at least until the void was filled. But not thirty feet away from him, he saw a King gang member leaning against an old building. The last thing Miles wanted was to get the ruling gang of Freeside gunning for him for murdering a guy that wasn't overtly dangerous. So instead, he tried a different avenue.

"What can I do to change your mind?" He hated having to barter with the guy, but he'd do what he had to.

Dixon's eyebrow rose at this question. "I might be willing to stop if there's something in it for me. You give me 300 caps right now and I'll stop supplying to them for a month. After that though-"

"Whoa, hold on, a month?" Miles was clearly upset, but Dixon continued.

"It's a free market, kid. If they want to buy after the bribe money runs out, they have the right, y'know? 300 caps per month, so if you give me 600-"

"Okay, okay, how about this." The Courier pulled his pack off his back and dug through it for one of his medical cases. He opened it to reveal all of the jet and psycho that he and Veronica had picked off of the powder gangers and raiders that they had killed. It wasn't as much as what Dixon had, but his mouth hung open regardless.

"Hot damn, kid, you a dealer too?"

"Hell no, this is just the stuff we picked off of raiders. It's all clean, not that you'd care. I know you're not going to buy this at market price, but there should be about 600 caps worth in here alone after the reduction. You'd easily sell it back and make a meaty profit."

Dixon was intrigued. "Hmm, I guess you know your stuff. Tell me, what drug do you use? I can see it in your eyes."

He played along. Anything to soften Dixon for the deal. "Med-X from time to time. I drink too, but I'm not hooked."

Dixon laughed again. "Ah, so you're one of those guys. Nice high from the opiates, but not potent enough to kill you like heroin or fentanyl if you limit yourself. I can respect that. The working man's gotta balance his shit." He took the case from Miles and started digging through the supplies, silently counting. After a few minutes, he looked back up. "I'd be willing to buy all of this for 600 caps. Give it all to me, and I'll stop selling to them for two months. Fair?"

No, it wasn't fair, but Miles knew that it was the best deal he could get. Reluctantly, he shook Dixon's hand and let him keep the case.

"What a good day this has been. I'm making out like a raider," the dealer laughed. "You wanna buy some Med-X while you're here? It's cheaper here than in New Vegas, I'll tell you that much."

"No, I have enough for now." He crossed his arms. "Two months. You sell them anything before that time is up and we're going to have a problem."

"Hey, I'm an honest man," he said, placing his hand on his heart. "You ask anybody I sell to and they'll tell you the same."

"Right…" He didn't believe him for a second. "Two months." He turned and walked away, scowling to himself. Men like Dixon made him feel so helpless. He could pay him off to spare Ronte and Hoff for two months, but once that was over… and he couldn't stop him from dealing bad drugs to other poor saps. Even if he were to kill him, some other snake would slither into his place. And it didn't help him that he restocked Dixon's supply for such a good deal on the dealer's part.

Freeside… it sure seemed free in many respects… but with that freedom, there was an underlying chaos that could barely be tamed.


End file.
